


She Likes It

by NickelModelTales



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Businessmen, F/M, Hypnotism, Idaho, Public Sex, Shameless Smut, conservative values
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28202106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NickelModelTales/pseuds/NickelModelTales
Summary: A socially conservative car dealership owner becomes convinced that a hypnotist is seducing his pretty female trainees for public anal sex.  Things go south from there.
Kudos: 6





	1. The First Five Star Girl

**_White Pine Rapids, Idaho_ **

**_November, 2006_ **

Its Monday, mid-afternoon. Just after lunchtime. I park in my reserved spot, straighten my tie, and then check to make sure the moustache is smoothed down. I love my moustache, gosh darn it. I originally grew it when I was twenty-three, ‘cause was tired of the customers calling me “Sonny.” I’m thirty-two now, and I guess I could shave the moustache off… but… eh. I still like it.

I’m Ron Hayshaw, president and owner of Hayshaw Five Star Family Motors, the finest Buick and Cadillac dealership you’ll find anywhere off Interstate 15. Here at Five Star, we move over three hundred vehicles per month, plus we’re always doing brisk business in the bodyshop, ya know. For the last three years running, we’ve won the Idaho Dealers’ Excellence Award, which I proudly display in the showroom. I want every customer to see those awards. I’m just proud as all heck of them awards.

I know, I know, you’re asking… How’d a young guy like me make it so big? I mean, most of the dealership owners you’ll meet are in their mid-fifties. Me, I’m in my early thirties. How’d I do it?

I piqued your interest, huh?

Stick around. You’ll spot my secret soon enough.

I stride into Five Star’s main showroom, pleased to see plenty of customers milling about. The new Buick Rendezvous are on display – good. Those are some of our best sellers.

There’s also about six little kids giggling away in our indoor playroom. I’m awful proud of that playroom. It’s got a mini swingset, oversized building blocks, and a shallow ball pit. Kids love the playroom. Moms and Dads love it, too, ‘cause its basically free daycare while they negotiate the lease on their next GL8.

Behind the Main Sales Desk, I spot Jimmy Oakridge, my Assistant Manager. Jimmy picks up the showroom speaker microphone and presses a button. The Dolly Parton song on the speakers fades a little.

“ _Attention, Five Star customers,_ ” Jimmy says warmly into the mike. “ _Remember, every sale at Five Star is grounded in our three key elements: Quality. Value. Family Traditions. We hope you’re having a relaxing time here at our showroom. If there’s anything we can do t’make your stay more enjoyable… why, just ask! God Bless, all._ ”

Good ol’ Jimmy.

My Assistant Manager spots me and grins. He sets down the mike, and comes out from behind the desk to greet me. “Hey there, boss.”

Its hard not to like Jimmy. He’s a natural salesman. I like his go-get’em attitude and his earnest face. You’d trust Jimmy to watch your kids or dogsit for you, he’s just that trustworthy.

Jimmy walks with me, obviously curious. “So, ah… how was…?”

“The meeting?” I ask, smiling and cheerfully waving to a family of six who have just entered the showroom. “Well, there’s bad news and good news, I guess.”

“Uh-oh.” Jimmy’s face falls.

“Relax,” I tell him easily. “The bad news is what we expected; the bank doesn’t have the capital to float us a loan big enough for our second location.”

“Okay,” Jimmy nods, hanging on my every word.

“But Sarah Henderson – she’s the bank’s VP of Finance – she thinks that she can put us in touch with some wealthy investors. Then all I have to do is present to them, and they can give us a loan directly.”

Jimmy is surprised. “Huh. That’s not the route you envisioned, boss.”

“But, by gosh, it’ll work,” I reply. “We gotta nudge our sales numbers up a bit, however. Make Champion Honda and Toyota look second-best in comparison.”

Jimmy snorts. “They are second best. That’s why we win the Excellence Award every year.”

**** **** **** ****

I move into our Administrative Offices, smiling and joking with the staff as I go. Everyone is busy, filing sales reports, answering phones, updating our computerized records. The activity is good to see.

As I approach my personal office, however, I sense a little drama. Joyce, my ever-nervous secretary, rises to greet me. She looks even older than usual, and she’s sixty-three. There’s worry in her eyes.

“Hey, hello there, Mr. Hayshaw,” she frets. “You had good meeting at the bank?”

“Yeah, real good,” I reply, wishing that, for once, Joyce could look relaxed. “Listen, if Sarah Henderson ever calls, you let me know immediately, okay? Okay. Now, what’s up?”

“Uh, two things…” My secretary hands me a reminder Post-it. “You’ve missed three maintenance appointments in our bodyshop, Mr. Hayshaw. You really should get your car checked, you know.”

I sigh inwardly. My brand-new Chrysler v8 Sedan is less than a year old, and there’s not even fifty thousand miles on it. Joyce is a big ol’ worrywart.

“Thank you,” I tell her smoothly. “Anything else?”

Joyce drops her voice to a nervous whisper. “Jennifer Upton and the WPRC are in your office!”

Oh, Jiminy Crickets! The WPRC? That’s a horse of a different color.

I frown, asking, “How’d the heck did they know I’d be here today?”

“Aw, cheese on a cracker… I told ‘em,” Joyce admits, looking wretched. “They’ve been phoning all morning, Mr. Hayshaw! So when ya called me on the road, and then they called shortly after… Well…”

“Forget it,” I assure my nervous secretary. “I’m sure this is nothing to worry about.”

Joyce mutters something in disagreement, then scurries off.

I smooth the moustache, square my shoulders, then march into my own office.

**** **** **** ****

Jennifer Upton is sitting on my office couch, her rear perched right on the edge of the couch cushions, her back perfectly straight, her purse clutched tightly in both hands. Her lips are pressed together, more tightly than usual. I’ve known Jennifer a while now; why, when we went to White Pine Rapids High School, she was a senior when I was a freshman. She was cold and uptight then, too.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against Jennifer. But some days I think she’s wound up so tight, she’d combust if you startled her with a loud noise or something. 

Sitting next to Jennifer are three other people from town that I recognize; Robert McMasters, owner of the Baskin-Robbins, Wilbur Henries, manager of the lumberyard, and Sissy Gunthery. Sissy is City Council Treasurer this year.

My four guests all look quite sour, as if they’ve come to tell me that we can’t be friends no more. They’re all members of the White Pine Rapids Council (WPRC), which is the unofficial White Pine Rapids Chamber of Commerce. One of these days, I’ve gotta figure out why I haven’t scored an invitation to join.

“Jennifer!” I exclaim, extending an eager hand despite everybody’s somber expressions. “Robert! Wilbur! Sissy! So good to see you all! Can I get you a water? Or a soda pop?”

“No thanks, Ron,” says Jennifer in a clipped tone. One of her fingers taps on her purse, almost angrily. “But thank you for seeing us.”

Uh-oh. These guys are steamed up about something. Better get right the source of trouble.

“What can I do for y’all?” I ask regally, leaning against my executive’s desk. Sometimes, if I adopt a slight Southern accent, people disarm. An old sales trick. Subconsciously, I smooth my moustache.

“Ron,” says Jennifer tightly, “you and I have known one another a long, long time. We’ve always gotten along well, and everybody at the WPRC thinks very highly of you.”

“Thank you,” I reply.

“So I have a very, very hard time understanding… this!” Jennifer huffs, pulling a blue piece of paper from her purse.

I take the paper, unfold it, and immediately get what the problem is. “Ah,” I say simply.

The flier was printed and handed out last week. Across the top, it proclaims, **_TALANTED YOUNG LADIES WANTED!_** Beneath that, there’s a black-and-white picture of Sue Ellen Hickory, White Pine’s Homecoming Queen from two years back. Sue Ellen is dazzlingly beautiful, with sunny cheeks, large, blue eyes, the smoothest skin you could possibly imagine, and perfectly-set white teeth. Oh, and the girl has God’s most wonderous smile. Movie stars can’t smile as wonderfully as Sue Ellen. Her thick, bouncy brown hair is tumbling about her shoulders in a carefree way. If there’s another girl more gorgeous than Sue Ellen, I’d like to see her. I just don’t believe its possible.

Beneath Sue Ellen is this paragraph:

**_Are you a charming and fun-loving young lady? Want to get a taste of the wonderful world of sales? Why not apply to be a Five Star Girl?_ **

And then, this:

**_Hayshaw Five Star Family Motors is looking for a handful of young ladies to represent the best automotive dealership in the Rocky Mountain States. Applicants must be between the ages of 19 and 30, have a high school diploma, and an aptitude for sales management. If you are selected as a Five Star Girl, you will be featured in sales campaigns and advertising for Five Star. Come, join our top-rate team, and see how far this first step will take you!_ **

“Are you serious, Ron?” Jennifer asks me, her eyeballs bulging slightly. “You want to use White Pine Rapid’s impressionable young ladies to sell your cars?”

“Jennifer…” I say quickly, putting up both hands.

“I thought Five Star was a class act,” Robert scowls. “But, Ron… are you trying to become just like a… a… a **_Hooters?_** ” He almost spits that last word out on the carpet.

“What do you have planned, exactly?” Wilbur challenges me gruffly. “Dancing on camera? Wet tee shirt contests? Bikini competitions?”

“Where’d ya think we are?” Sissy practically shrieks. “ ** _New Jersey?_** ”

“Guys!” I say, gesturing almost frantically. “No, no, its not like that at all!”

Jennifer snatches the flier from my hands. “No? This looks pretty bad, Ron.” She clucks her tongue while inspecting the paper once more. “Sweet, sweet Sue Ellen Hickory…! Why, I remember attending her Confirmation. Her older sister and I used to organize the Baked Goods Sale for the library!”

“Please,” I clasp my hands together, as if about to pray. “Listen to me, won’cha? Please. I will explain all.”

My WPRC audience shut their mouths. But they don’t look any more welcoming.

Aw, jeez. The next three minutes will be critical to the future of Five Star.

**** **** **** ****

Remember how I not-so-subtly hinted at my secret sales strategy? Well, its not so secret, not if you just look at our business.

For a ski resort town that caters to upscale folks in Washington State and Oregon, White Pine Rapids is a pretty conservative community. We’ve been that way since before World War II, and probably before that. Everyone here thinks in terms of tradition, values, stability. If we were any more old-fashioned, we’d be going back in time. We haven’t voted for a Democrat since… well, since ever. That’s White Pine Rapids.

So I keep a sharp eye on the dealership’s family-friendly image. I make sure everything about Five Star Motors is squeaky clean. And wholesome. If a customer wants to pray over their new car before they drive it off the lot, then I absolutely pray with them. That’s this business. **_Five Star is a business for families._**

Heck, the Five Star slogan says it all: Quality. Value. And Family Traditions.

Now, of course, I see in hindsight how badly I misfired with those fliers. So its kinda good that Jennifer and the WPRC are confronting me like this. Gives me a chance to repair the damage.

**** **** **** ****

“I’m mighty glad y’all came to me with this,” I say earnestly to Jennifer, Robert, Wilbur, and Sissy. “I see now that I handled this whole thing poorly. Lemme explain.

“I’ve been taking some online marketing courses,” I go on, scooping up some printouts from my desk. “The really, really big dealerships back east and out west, they did a lot of research on what makes for a compelling sales pitch. What draws the customers in. And the Number One thing that appealed to the American consumer was a professional, well-presented young lady.”

“Whaddya mean, _professional?_ ” Wilbur grunts. “You mean… like hookers?”

“No!” I retort, offended. “No, not at all!”

“Oh,” Wilbur says, and deflates.

“No, I mean a poised and… I’ll admit it… attractive young lady can really present a company in the best possible light,” I explain, handing out some of my course materials. “See? Focus groups tell us that the American consumer responds to young women. They appeal to the men in a fatherly way. And they appeal to women by virtue of association. Women look at younger, professional versions of themselves, and it makes them feel at ease.”

My guests shuffle through the printed class slides, their expressions unreadable.

I continue: “So my idea was to hire a handful of bright young women, women who would like to work as professionals in this field. We’d bring the girls here to the dealership, give ‘em a one-week, hands-on training course, complete with modeling and TV acting.”

“TV acting?” Wilbur retorts, suspicious again.

“For Five Star’s television commercials,” I explain. “Once the training is done, the girls will appear in all of our commercials. Not that my own handsome mug wasn’t getting the job done, of course,” I add, reflexively smoothing my moustache.

“Hmmgh,” snorts Sissy, unamused.

“The training program ends on the same day as the start of the Boise Auto Expo,” I continue. “I’ve already made some noise about this with my competitors, and I want the girls to do a full sales presentation for Five Star, right at the Expo. **_That’ll_** get the attention of this industry, you bet your boots it will.”

Jennifer holds up a printout of a young woman, dressed in a professional suit, her hair done up, her makeup modest, her heels no more than an inch high. Attractive, but conservative. “Your girls would dress like this?” she asks.

“Yes, but with longer skirts,” I reply. “And the top button of the blouse is always done up.”

My guests glance at one another, still suspicious.

“Look,” I say, moving back to lean against my desk again, “how do I make the WPRC feel good about this? Because I think being a Five Star Girl could be the stepping stone into a business career for the young ladies who sign with us.”

“What about using a chaperone?” Jennifer asks directly.

Inside, I’m taken aback. A **_chaperone?_** What, are we talking about the Middle School dance here? The Five Star Girls would be ages nineteen and up. They would be legal adults! Chaperones are insulting.

Still… If this makes the WPRC happy…

“Sure,” I say, spreading my hands. “Just so everyone can see this program would be on the up-and-up, sure, we can do chaperones. A chaperone. Just one.”

“Oh,” Jennifer says, and appears to disarm. “Oh, well, then. That seems quite reasonable. No?” She looks at Robert, Wilbur, and Sissy.

“I dunno,” grumbles Wilbur, folding his arms.

“Look,” I say, adopting my best sales smile, “Gosh darn it, I want to be as above-the-board as possible with you guys. You only have White Pine Rapids’s best interests at heart, right? I totally understand. So talk amongst yourselves, decide how you want to chaperone these young ladies, and I’ll work with you guys. I’m here to make you comfortable.” I pause a beat. “Whaddya say, Wilbur?”

“Hmgh,” mutters Wilbur.

“We’ll get back to you,” Jennifer says crisply, rising to her feet. “Thanks for your time, Ron.”

**** **** **** ****

I walk the gruesome foursome out of the dealership, making jokes and small talk the whole way. My sense is that at the least I’ve mollified Jennifer… but who knows? I’ll find out if I’ve closed the deal soon enough.

After my sour guests drive off, I let out a long exhale. If I’m lucky, Jennifer and company will forget about this whole ordeal. Or, more likely, they’ll insist on the chaperone for a day or two, then realize their concerns are silly. And then, they’ll get around to inviting me into the WPRC. I could really use that membership.

**** **** **** ****

I mosey back onto the sales floor. I’m a salesman at heart, and here is where I feel the most at-home.

I see the new LaCrosse’s are on display, and already the sky-blue one is attracting more than one admiring family. Good. Over there is Mickey Tulio, sales associate, showing off a 4X4 Escalade to an older customer with the bushiest beard I’ve ever seen. Sounds like they’re about to talk financing. And then beyond them…

Wait. On the other side of the floor is none other than the gorgeous Sue Ellen Hickory herself, dressed in a business skirt, blazer, and button-down blouse. Her thick brown hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, which is definitely not the dress code if you’re on the sales team. White Pine Rapids’s beauty queen is gaily chatting with Hank Greene, our newest sales associate.

I rub my jaw. I didn’t personally hire Hank, and now I’m wishing I had stepped into his interview process or his background check. Hank is early-twenties, thin, athletic, very, very good-looking. He’s one of the few dudes I know who makes a crew cut look good. I bet he played basketball in high school. Now that I search my memory, I think he did two years at Boise State College in… Communications? Something useless.

I watch Hank.

…I dunno, there’s just something about that guy which rubs me wrong. He’s too polished, too charismatic, too slick for his own good. Hank is the guy who would crash your party and immediately steal away all the prettiest girls. If he wasn’t my employee, I’d instinctively resent him.

But what is Sue Ellen doing here? She’s not officially a Five Star Girl, not yet. Thank God the WPRC people didn’t spot her.

I amble on over. “Hey, kids,” I say.

“Chief,” nods Hank, and grins.

“Oh!” Sue Ellen chirps, and she flashes that dazzling, prize-winning smile of hers at me. “Like… how cool to see you! Totally!”

“What’s up?” I say smoothly. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, Sue Ellen, but… you aren’t working the floor are you? You may be the first Five Star Girl, but we haven’t officially started the program yet. You’re not even a member of the staff yet, you know.”

“Oh,” sighs Sue Ellen, “I get it. I totally get it. No worries, Ron, I’m not, like, doing anything weird or nothing.”

“So what are you doing?” I have to ask.

“Just…” Sue Ellen’s beautiful face goes blank for a second. “Oh, just hangin’ out. That’s all.”

 ** _Hanging out?_** At Five Star? This is gosh darn suspicious.

“She wanted to see how the sales floor works, Chief,” Hank says quickly. “You know, for when she’s gonna officially be on-staff. I’m just showing her the ropes.”

“Yeah,” Sue Ellen agrees. “Like, totally.” She flips her hair.

Something’s up. I’m mighty tempted to call malarkey. But you don’t call someone out like that, not in a sales environment.

A sales force team isn’t really a team. Strictly speaking, every salesman (or woman) are in competition with one another, hunting for their next sale. If you can’t land a sale, your buddy/competitor will cut your legs out from under you to nab that customer. So guy on the sales team is a little mysterious, a little dodgy. It means that as the boss, I have to put up with a little weird behavior from my guys every now and then.

On the other hand, there are other tricks I can play when I suspect my associates are up to something.

“Hey, Hank,” I say, pointing to a family of four who just walked through the main doors. “I bet they need a XT6 wagon.”

“Right,” Hank says, getting my drift. He glances at Sue Ellen.

“Go on,” I nudge. “Before Jimmy steals ‘em from you.”

Hank nods, and he’s off. Sue Ellen watches him, absently twirling a lock of hair between two fingers.

“Hey now,” I say, half-joking, “that Hank guy’s bad news, ya know. Beware of everything he says to you.”

Sue Ellen blinks. “Huh?” she says, as if suddenly realizing where she is. “What?”

Boy, this girl is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen… but she’s **_dumb_**.

**** **** **** ****


	2. The Traveling Potato Patch Fair

Being careful to keep things above-the-board with Jennifer Upton and the WPRC, I begin carefully weeding through our applications of Five Star Girls. Jennifer wants to review every application with me.

We have some promising candidates. Beth Summers, for example, is very beautiful, very charismatic, very energetic, with a 150 Watt smile and shapely hourglass figure. She’s currently working as a cashier over at Rosauers Supermarkets, so a jump to our team will be a no-brainer for her. There’s also Chrissie Mae Macintosh, a willowy blonde beauty who was White Pine Rapid High’s head cheerleader two years back. Chrissie has maxed out her credit as a regional celebrity, and wants to be on TV, somehow. I’ll think she’ll look great in our commercials.

There’s a few other girls whom I want on the team. Bright, intelligent, and great-looking go-getters, all of them. In the end, I select a total of six girls to be accepted to our program.

“They’ll all do,” sniffs Jennifer Upton, reviewing my finalists. “That Beth Summers is trouble, though. I hear she drinks and flirts too much. We’ll have to keep an eye on her.”

Ugh. My little scheme to mollify the WPRC seems to be backfiring. Whenever I share information with Jennifer, she just wants more. She’s beginning to ask questions about all aspects of the business. Heck, Jennifer seems like she wants to take up an office down the hall from mine. If she ever blabbed about any of this to Champion Toyota and Honda, I’d be sunk!

But I grit my teeth and silently count to ten each time Jennifer gets a little more intrusive. After all, I’ve nothing to hide, right? I want the Five Star Girls to sparkle, to get a nice career boost… and to improve my sales figures.

**** **** **** ****

About a week after I send out the offer letters to the future Five Star Girls, my older sister Erica stops by the dealership. “Hey there Ron,” she says over a strained smile.

“Hey, sis,” I say, concerned. “What… What’s up? You wanna grab a coffee?”

I take my sister back to our little café, the one our customers use while waiting for their cars in the shop. Sis is anxious. She keeps twisting a napkin between her fingers.

“Look,” Erica blurts out finally, “I’m hoping you can help me with Abigail.”

Abigail is Erica’s daughter, my niece. She’s seventeen years old, doing her last year in high school. I haven’t seen her lately, but I hear through Mom that Abbie’s has been having some boyfriend and school problems.

“Uh, sure,” I reply. “What can I do?”

“My divorce with Abigail’s father… its turning ugly,” my sister confesses. “And Abigail is just taking it all so hard. She’s stopped studying, she’s started smoking. She hangs out with these horrible boys… Oh, Ron, I’m so worried for her! She’s flushing her life straight down the toilet!”

“Oh, jeez,” I say, taken aback at Erica’s strong language. “Well… what can I do…?”

Erica grips my arm, desperate. “Could Abigail be a Five Star Girl? Just even part-time? I mean, doing something like that, where she’d be contributing to a sales force, and learning how a business works… Oh, Ron, it could mean so much for her!”

I stare, taken aback. Little Abbie, a Five Star Girl? I still remember her six-year old birthday party, back when I was a teenager. She was so happy to get Rainbow Unicorn Barbie as a present.

When I dreamed up the Five Star Girls, I didn’t imagine sweet little Abbie as a part of my attractive sales force. But… Well…

Aw, jeez, look at my sister. She’s at wits’ end. My heart goes out to her.

“We’ll think up some intern position,” I promise Erica. “Part-time, after school. Something. Basically, we’ll get Abbie on the team, then she can have the option of joining for real when she turns nineteen.”

“Oh, thank you, Rob,” Erica practically sobs. “Thank you! Oh, God bless ya. This means so much…!”

As my sister blathers on and on, I smile understandingly. Too late, it occurs to me… I can’t let Jennifer Upton and the WPRC realize that I’ve slipped my niece into Five Star. It might raise the wrong type of questions.

**** **** **** ****

I’m dating a nice gal named Beverly Hutchins, the owner and head proprotor of the Pink Ladies Beauty Salon, right on Grove Avenue. Bev and I met when she came to Five Star shopping for a new roadster. I personally sold her red Encore, with the power seats and the custom stereo. Then, after she signed the lease and took the keys, I asked her out.

Bev and I have been an item for a tad over six months now, and now we’re at the phase where we’re talking about finding a place together. Its Friday, a full working day for me. Bev’s taken a half-day off, so we’re having takeout lunch together in my office.

“I really like the ranch house off Wilcox, Sweetie,” Bev remarks as she flips through real estate listings.

I admire my girlfriend. Bev’s mighty pretty, no matter how you slice it. In tight blue jeans, a farmer’s button-down plaid shirt, cowboy boots, and her thick red hair done up in a scrunchy, she looks plain but great. Bev’s got a great figure, and she’s always got this natural beauty to her. I keep eyeing her legs in those jeans.

Bev eyes another listing. “Of course, if we spring for the Shabby Chic house… with that big yard… we could put up a kids’ swingset someday.”

“One thing at a time, Babycakes,” I say smoothly.

My girlfriend laughs, and sets down the real estate listing. “Okay, okay,” she teases me. “So, your Five Star Girl thing starts on Monday?”

I nod. Joyce is actually typing up the schedule, right now.

“And you’re going to be doing the training?” Bev asks in a teasing way. “My Honeybear, a schoolteacher? I wish I could see that.”

“Jimmy can do the training too,” I say defensively. “Besides, we’re doing a lot more besides classroom instruction.”

“Mmm,” Bev acknowledges, sipping her diet soda. “You haven’t made up the lecture materials, have you?”

“Not yet,” I say. “But I’ve got all weekend.”

“You’re gonna work this weekend?” Bev exclaims, disappointed. “Oh, Sugar-boo, I was hoping we could we could go for a hike, or something.”

“Its supposed to snow next week,” I frown.

“But its warm this weekend,” Bev argues back.

I sigh, thinking carefully. “The Potato Patch Fair is tonight,” I suggest. “What if we go to that, instead? I’ll make some calls, see if our friends can’t join us. And then, you can do something with your girlfriends this weekend.”

Bev considers. “Well, Lucy Summers and I were toying with the idea of shopping off in Boise,” she admits.

“There you go,” I say, and bite into my BLT.

Over the dealership’s speaker system, I hear Jimmy cut in with another live ad: “ _Attention, Five Star customers,_ ” he croons. “ _We hope you’re having an enjoyable time here in our showroom. Remember, at Five Star, you’re family! Five Star: Quality. Value. Family Traditions. God Bless, y’all._ ”

“You guys should really stop those in-store messages,” Bev frowns. “They’re kinda distracting, don’cha think?”

I shake my head, swallowing. “The online courses I’m taking say that a customized message, once every thirty minutes, breeds a sense of familiarity. Makes the customers feel at home.”

“You and your online courses, Snugglebug…!” marvels Bev, and pops a French Fry into her mouth.

**** **** **** ****

The Traveling Potato Patch Fair is a traveling amusement park that visits White Pine Rapids just once a year. I’ve gone in years past, and its just as gaudy and second-rate as ever. They’ve added a little makeshift roller coaster, but you couldn’t pay me to sit in those tiny little deathtrap cars. They also have live music. This year its a country band that’s really good. I like their lead singer, a cross between Keith Urban and classic Garth Brooks. Nice.

Bev and I do the Ferris Wheel ( ** _twelve buck a ride??? Outrageous!_** ), the Haunted House, and then a few shooting games. But I still don’t see our friends. Are they not coming? Aw phooey, I’m mighty disappointed.

“Hey Ron, hold my purse?” Bev asks me. “I need to visit the Ladies’ Room.”

“Hold your purse?” I grouse. “Ahhh… Gosh darn it…”

“What is it with you men and purses?” Bev retorts. She thrusts her enormous bag into my hands. “I’ll be back in a jiffy, okay?” And she’s off.

As I awkwardly hold Bev’s purse, I see two younger guys, probably farmhands, snickering at me. Dangit! I can’t be seen like this.

Luckily, there’s some dark space outside the bright lights, just beyond the food tents. I move over there, but where I can still keep an eye on the line for the ladies’ Port-a-Potties. The thick forest is directly behind me, right behind that clump of hedges.

I duck into the shadows, waiting impatiently. Aw, Jiminy, the ladies’ room line is long! I’ll be here twenty minutes, at least!

Disgusted, I pull out my cell phone. At least I can remotely check messages at the office.

There’s a warm breeze, for November. As I’m dialing my cell, my ears absently notice the voice of a young woman and another man, somewhere to my left. “Into the woods?” the young lady is saying. “Why the heck would I want to go back in there?”

“Just humor me,” the guy replies. His voice is coaxing.

I hear the two young people push through way through the shrubbery. The young lady complains about the lack of light.

Meanwhile, I have one message on the office phone. I listen intently. “ _’Ay there, Ronny Boy,_ ” a woman’s recorded voice says. She speaks loudly. “ _This is Sarah Henderson, from the bank. Listen, I may have a good lead on a wealthy investor who is looking to put some money into the White Pine Rapids area. Let’s discuss on Monday, when you have a moment? Thanks!_ ”

Pleased, I tuck my phone back into my back pocket. Where’s Bev? Has she done her business yet? No, she’s only a third of the way through the line-

“Okay, Little Lady, this is good,” I hear the guy say. The young man and woman are behind me, now, maybe twenty feet back into the forest. There’s something familiar about this dude’s tone. “You good?” he asks.

“I still don’t see why we’re back here,” the young woman protests. “There’s not even that much light-“

“Shhh…” the guy tells her. “Look into my eyes.”

“Your eyes?” says the woman, surprised. “Why would I-“

“Look deep into my eyes,” murmurs the guy. “Deeper and deeper into my eyes. You find it so easy to focus and concentrate. Concentrate. Look deeper, and find yourself relaxing, relaxing once again.”

“I’m not sure-“ the woman begins.

“Don’t say a word, Little Lady,” cautions the guy. “In fact, in a moment, you’ll relax so completely, your mouth and lips simply won’t want to speak again. You are relaxing, relaxing so much, letting yourself go, becoming peaceful and tranquil as you gaze deeper and deeper into my eyes.”

What the Sam Heck is going on back there? I turn and squint into the darkness behind me. Past the bushes and trees, I can see the gray silhouettes of the couple, but not much else. Luckily, they can’t see me at all.

“You are relaxing so deeply,” the guy purrs. “So deeply and completely, Little Lady. Soon your mind will be asleep, and you will follow and obey all of the suggestions that I place within your mind. Let it happen. Surrender to this sweet nothingness, where you only have to relax and obey. Obey…”

The young woman is completely silent now, apparently objecting to none of this.

My curiosity is growing rampant now. What, exactly, is happening back there? I’m tempted to yell and find out… but that would blow my cover.

“I will now count from ten to one,” the guy declares. “Each number I say takes you deeper into relaxation and a thoughtless, peaceful sleep. When I reach the number one, your mind will be completely in slumber, and you will follow and obey every command I give you. Ten… You are feeling so very, very relaxed… You are letting your mind go… Nine… You cannot resist…”

This is definitely weird, even alarming. Why is the woman no longer speaking? Why is she allowing the guy to tell her that she will be obedient?

…Oh, for Pete’s sake. Is this some kind of drug deal?

I’ve gotta know.

Inching forward as slowly as I dare, I creep towards the young couple, craning my neck. Despite the darkness, its pretty easy to weave my way around the bushes. The ground is soft with thick grass. My tennis shoes don’t make a sound as I inch forward.

“…and one!” says the guy. He snaps his fingers. “You are now in deep hypnosis, Little Lady, and completely in my power. You will instantly follow and obey my every command, absolutely convinced that the compulsions I place within your head are your own ideas. You cannot resist.”

**_Hypnosis???_ **

Oh, spit! I stop dead in my tracks. The young lady’s been hypnotized? I thought that mental mumbo-jumbo influence stuff was all fake. Like, Las Vegas and Hollywood hokey bullplop, you know?

(Pardon my language.)

 _This has got to be a joke,_ I convince myself. _A big, fat, completely fake joke._

Still… why would any God-fearing Christian woman allow another man to speak to her like this?

“In a moment,” the guy announces, sounding smug, “I will snap my fingers. You will lift your head and open your eyes, but you will remain in deep hypnosis. Your mind will be a complete blank, and you will remain entirely within my power.”

I see the silhouette of the guy as he snaps his fingers, once. The young lady raises her head high, but I can’t see her face. I can’t even make out her hair color. Her shoulders are still slumped, relaxed, and she remains motionless.

“And now, you will firmly believe all of the following,” instructs the guy grandly. “I am your master. You are my helpless, hypnotized slave, and anything I demand of you, you must obey. You cannot resist any command I give you, even if you try. But you will not be able to even try. My will is iron, and yours is completely obedient to me. Nod once if you understand.”

To my amazement – and slight revulsion – the young lady’s head bobs up and down, exactly once.

“Excellent, slave,” laughs the dude. “And now, my girl, your master demands that you give him a demonstration of your devotion and love. In a moment, I will count to five, and when I do, you will awaken, remembering nothing. You will be unable to remember even your own name, who you are, where you are, anything. But you will find that you are horny, so incredibly fucking horny, and you have to fuck like a slutty bitch to satisfy your master, right fucking here and now.”

Good Lord! **_Is he using the F-word?_**

“One…” the guy counts.

I’m feeling a little sick to my stomach. What I’m overhearing can’t be real, right? I mean… there must be a rational explanation. Right? Like, um, er… this young couple… are… ah, rehearsing for a play?

Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus.

My heart is pounding like a stampede of cattle.

“Five!” crows the guy. “Awaken!”

I see the young lady shake her head, slightly. She absently brushes a strand of her hair out of her face.

The two young people are about fifteen feet away from me now. I don’t dare creep forward any further, or else they’ll see me, for sure. And somehow, my horrified feet are rooted to the earth. I can’t move or look away.

“How do you feel?” the guy asks the young lady.

I freeze, listening intently. **_What’s she gonna say?_**

“Fine,” the girl replies.

Whew.

“Horny,” she adds in a low moan. “I’m so fucking horny, master. Soooo fucking horny. I’m a slut for you.”

Oh Jiminy Crickets!

The young woman presses against the dude, and their two silhouettes merge. I hear soft, wet kissing.

Oh sweet Jesus! This hypnosis is the real deal!

“Mmm…” the girl murmurs, mid-kiss. I see the guys hands slide down her torso, then embrace her rear end. She doesn’t protest. She doesn’t protest when those greedy hands slide back up. Then he pulls off her windbreaker and then her shirt off over her head.

Oh, my Lord. I shouldn’t be watching this. Or should I? If this woman is under some kind of mind-warping spell, shouldn’t I… I don’t know, charge in and save her? Break the hypnotism?

My mind starts whirling in all sorts of crazy directions. What if I can’t break the hypnotism? Sweet Lord – what if the guy puts his hypnotism on me? And what if he wants me to do some crazy sex stuff?

 _You’re going nuts, Ron,_ I try to tell myself. _Calm down. You can’t be hypnotized. Besides, hypnotism can’t turn good people into sex-crazed fiends… can it?_

“Yeeeeeah, ho,” the guy smirks, and I can tell that he’s unhooking the young lady’s brassiere. “Now I want to fuck you.”

“Oh, yeah, master,” the young lady groans in appreciation. “I want you to fuck me, **_fuck me so hard_** , so fucking hard, oh yeah…! Make me cum, fucking right here. Right in my wet pussy.”

“No,” commands the guy. “I want to fuck you up the butthole.”

“My butthole?” the woman echoes, sounding taken aback. I see her pull back from the dude, just a little. “But I’ve never-“

“Look into my eyes,” the hypnotist commands firmly.

The young woman freezes.

“When I snap my fingers,” the guy tells her, “you only want to be fucked up the butthole. Anal sex, especially filthy anal sex, is all your depraved mind craves. You can’t wait to feel my cock in your sweet butt. Do you understand?”

She answers in a light, detached voice: “Yes, master…”

“And when I cum,” the dude continues, “you will climax too, and it will feel incredible.”

The guy snaps, and its like a whole different woman is now in his arms. The young lady laughs, hurriedly unzipping her jeans. “Oh master,” she growls happily, “I want your throbbing cock, right up my ass.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Oh, fuck me, yeahhh,” the woman says, her voice simmering with lust. I hear her unzip the fly on her jeans, and then she is pushing her pants down to the forest floor. When she stands back up, a shaft of soft moonlight falls on her body, and I can see the bare skin of her torso, her hip, and the side of her leg. She’s naked!

My word! It’s warm for November, but still a little chilly out. This young lady must really be under a spell.

“I fucking want you up in my butthole,” demands the woman, moving to place both hands on a nearby tree. She tilts forward, pushing her nude rear end back toward her hypnotist. “I fucking want you, now, master. Come up my butthole and cum in my butthole. Mmm…! Make me your filthy, slutty butt-whore. I want you, master!”

As she speaks these horrible obscenities, I watch the young woman reach down between her own legs. Dear Lord, she’s touching her private parts as she’s talking filth!

The hypnotized woman babbles on, talking in a stream of revolting, explicit sex talk. She goes on and on about how the guy’s… ahem, wee-wee… will feel when he, ah, enters her. And how she’ll love every moment of it. And how she wants to be dominated. And how she can’t stop saying or doing any of these terrible things, because she’s under his full control.

The clouds shift, just slightly, and the forest soaks in a little more moonlight. I can see both the man and woman. Thankfully, their backs are to me. Unfortunately, I can see the woman’s nude body, almost every inch of her. She’s pointing her, uh, heinie in my direction. I can see both of her round buttocks, but thankfully her private holes are cloaked in darkness. Meanwhile, the guy is dropping his pants, and his tight butt is soon shining in the moonlight.

I can’t believe I’m seeing this. For God’s sake, I’ve never even viewed pornography! As an unmarried Christian, I’ve never had sex myself, so I’ll admit, there’s probably a lot to lovemaking that I don’t know about. **_But I didn’t think people’s buttholes were involved in sex!_**

I hear the snap of rubber, and I realize the guy has just put on a condom. He eagerly steps against the woman, and thankfully, he blocks my line of vision to her genitals. But now I can see all of his butt. I watch as the guy carefully positions his… you know… right up against the woman’s… ah, yeah, that. He spits loudly, then I see his hands work. He’s rubbing his Johnson, making it wet. Lubricated.

I can’t look away. This is like seeing a car crash on the highway. Except fornication is involved.

“Ohhhh, Master, fucking hump my butt!” the woman groans. “Make me **_your slutty-butt whore!_** Fuck me, fuck me!”

The guy begins pushing his hips forward, just slightly. Immediately, the woman arches her back and almost wails in pleasure.

Dumbfounded, I glance back in the direction of the fair. The country music band is playing at full blast, and the bright lights are shining away from us. This young couple can have as much noisy sex as they want, and no-one will know.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” the woman starts yelping. She claws at the tree with her free hand. The man is thrusting with a regular motion, his bare hips almost dancing in the moonlight.

“Oh my fucking God, my fucking butthole, it feels so so soooooo good, Master, it feels sooooo good!” the woman rants, throwing her head about. “Fuck me harder, Master, harder! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum!!!”

The man is thrusting really, really quickly now. He’s grunting softly, and slapping the woman on the side of her hip, just a little. Suddenly, he straightens his spine with a jerk and bellows a wordless sound.

“Oh yeah…!” he pants. “Now, you cum too!” He snaps his fingers.

The woman immediately writhes, squirming and dancing on her two bare feet. She squeals in happiness. I am both horrified and revolted.

The two fornicators slow down, pause, then separate their bodies. The young lady collapses into the soft grass. I can hear her breathing and groaning in delight. The guy backs up a little, unsteady on his feet. Then, he too, drops to the ground.

I stand up on my tiptoes, and I can still make out the two figures in the darkness… although I still can’t see their faces.

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck,” sighs the young lady. “Master, that was… Fuck. Wow. Wow! Fucking wow.”

“You like getting butt-plugged,” the guy observes.

“Yeeeeeaah,” she replies coyly. “Well… It was pretty good….”

“When I snap my fingers,” the hypnotist commands, “you will freely say that you like anal.” He snaps.

“I like anal,” the young lady says immediately, as if she didn’t notice that the dude had said anything. “Yeah, I like it.”

Dumbly, I think to myself, _She likes it._

“I think you also like getting hypnotized and becoming my anal bitch,” the hypnotist chuckles, sliding next to the young woman.

“…hypnotized?” the young lady says, puzzled.

“Sleep!” the dude commands her, sliding a hand over her face.

The young lady goes silent and motionless. Has she been put to sleep? Is that how hypnotism works?

“When you next awaken,” the guy instructs, “you will put on your clothes as if nothing unusual has happened. The instant all of your clothes are restored, you will blink, and then you will forget everything that you have done with me tonight. You will forget the hypnosis, the sex, becoming my slave, everything. Your mind will clear, and you will go back to your normal life. And it will be as if none of this has ever happened. Do you understand?”

“…yes, Master…”

“Very good,” the guy says, sounding pleased with himself. “And now, awaken on the count of five. One… two…”

As if I’m coming out of a trance myself, I suddenly become aware of my own surroundings. I’m in the woods, leaning over a chest-high bush, straining on my tiptoes. Bev’s purse is still in my hand. The air is cool, but I’m sweating like crazy. And that country band is still really loud.

The hypnotist finishes counting. I watch the young lady get up, and put on her clothes. Too late, I realize that I should avert my eyes, because at a few choice moments, I clearly see her full, bare breasts, her nipples, and then her buttocks. She’s got a God-blessed body.

 _Stop it, Ron!_ I think savagely to myself. _You’ve just witnessed sin! Horrible, perverted sin!_

The young couple get organized, then stroll out of the forest. They never pass near me, but as they go, I can tell that the young woman is unaware of anything unusual having taken place.

Suddenly ashamed of myself, I can’t look at her. When I look up again, both the young lady and the hypnotist have disappeared into the crowd. I have no idea who they were.

**** **** **** ****


	3. First Class Disaster

“Jeepers, what’s with you?” Bev asks once she and I reunite.

“Nothing,” I lie instinctively.

We’re still at the Potato Patch Fair, maybe ten minutes after I witnessed hypnotized-filthy-butt-sex back in the forest. I can’t get those mental images out of my brain.

My girlfriend inspects me with a suspicious eye as she takes back her purse. “Seriously, Kissybear,” she prods, “what’s up? You look like you got food poisoning. You didn’t eat an entire funnel cake again, did you?”

“You wanna go home?” I say suddenly. “I’m suddenly not feeling so good.”

**** **** **** ****

We take my Sedan back to Bev’s apartment. As I’m driving, I realize that I just can’t tell her about witnessing the hypnosex in the woods. I’m not sure why, but… I just can’t tell her!

She’d never believe me, for one. Bev can be pretty judgmental and scornful when she thinks you’re pulling her leg.

And besides… would anyone I know ever believe me? That there’s a butt-humping hypnotist running loose in White Pine Rapids, the most socially conservative town in America? This is kinda like discovering that one of your sweet, friendly neighbors is secretly an axe murderer… except this is grosser.

For gosh sakes… **_Who could that guy have been?_**

“You know,” remarks Bev, “next year, I think we should invite my sister and her family to join us at the fair. You agree?”

“One thing at a time, Babycakes,” I mumble. “Say… did they have one of those stage hypnotists at the fair this year?”

“No,” Bev responds, almost laughing at my question. “A hypnotist, in this town? Are you kidding me?”

“Just curious,” I say airily. “I mean, I thought I heard the fair was bringing one.”

“Yeah – who exactly told you that?” Bev wants to know.

“Uhhh… Jennifer Upton,” I lie.

“Jennifer Upton?” Bev snorts. “You mean Jennifer Uptight? Oh, she would have a cow if they tried to being that kind of Las Vegas act to White Pine Rapids.” She pauses. “Too bad, though. I’ve always wondered what its like to get hypnotized. I would have volunteered.”

I nearly drive off the road. “ ** _What?_** ” I splutter in disbelief.

“Why not?” Bev asks innocently. “I mean, getting hypnotized isn’t a sin, right? Its not like drinking alcohol. Once I’m hypnotized, I’d do some crazy stuff for a while. But that’s the point.”

“Oh no, Babycakes,” I say firmly. “No, you do not want to get hypnotized.”

“Ah, you’re a stiff,” my girlfriend teases me. “Loosen up, Cuddlybug.”

I imagine Bev, my Bev, staring into the eyes of the anal-loving hypnotist. They guy commands her, ‘ _And now, when I snap my fingers, you are my slave-whore._ ’

‘ _Yes, Master,_ ’ Bev robotically agrees.

‘ _You will love it as I fuck you up the butt,_ ’ the hypnotist commands.

‘ _Yes, Master,_ ’ my girlfriend repeats, and moves to unzip her tight jeans…

**_Oh my word!!! Did I just think the word ‘fuck’???_ **

**_Ahhh! I did it AGAIN!!!_ **

**** **** **** ****

I have a hard time sleeping that night. Every time I doze off, I dream about people in the shadows, furiously sticking their genitals into other people’s butts. I awake sweating and shaking.

So when Saturday morning comes, I decide to throw myself into work, just to take my mind off unpleasant matters. I get in my favorite suit, drive into Five Star, and spend all day working the sales floor.

But I still can’t concentrate! Every time I’m talking with a customer, the mental image of the naked sex-people juts into my mind. I keep making ghastly Freudian slips like this:

“See, this model has plenty of butt room.”

“Oh, you betcha, backing in and out again and in and our again is what this car’s all about.”

“Yes, power anal steering is a standard feature of this car.”

You don’t want to know how I nearly foul up discussions about stick shifts, undercarriages, horsepower, or camshafts.

The customers sense my unease and my lack of focus.

“You okay there, chief?” Jimmy Oakridge asks me, after I fumble three sales in a row.

“Yeah, fine…” I mutter, furiously smoothing down my moustache.

Its no use. Every time a tall, skinny guy customer walks into Five Star, I find myself staring at his butt, wondering… _Could he be the hypnotist?_

**** **** **** ****

Going to church on Sunday morning doesn’t help soothe me, much, neither. So I spend my day off mowing my lawn and pruning my hedges, anything to keep my mind off… you know…

Then on Monday morning, I rise bright and early. _It’s a new day!_ I tell myself. _Time to focus on what I can control. Let everything else go._ I recite the Serenity Prayer. Then I smooth down my moustache.

Feeling better, I drive into the office, and make sure I’m the one who unlocks the showroom doors and greets our first customers of the day. It’s a family of four.

“Hi there, folks!” I say as brightly as possible. “Welcome to Five Star Motors! I’m Ron.”

I make a point of shaking hands with the dad, the mom, the three-year-old son, and even patting the little baby. The poor little tyke starts crying up a storm.

“Aw, for Pete’s sake,” the mom sighs. “Here, Josh, can’cha put her to sleep?”

The dad takes the baby. “You will go to sleep, little lady…” he coos. “You will go to sleep…”

I feel my smile slide right off my face. _Little Lady? Go to sleep?_

It occurs to me: The dad has the same height and body type as the hypnotist! As he turns about, I glance down at his butt, and wonder if I’ve seen that same butt, naked, in the forest…

**_WHAT AM I THINKING???_ **

“Another sales guy will help you!” I blurt out angrily, then turn and flee.

**** **** **** ****

I bustle into my office, ignoring the bewildered stares of the administrative staff. I shut my door. Once at my desk, I grab my computer keyboard and mouse. Joyce has stuck another reminder Post-it that my sedan is overdue at the mechanic’s. I toss that away, and I lean close to my monitor.

Okay, I’ve gotta know, I’ve gotta know! I go to Yahoo Search. Then I search for “ ** _white pine rapids hypnotist_** ” and hit RETURN impatiently.

Nothing comes up.

I scratch my chin, then enter “ ** _elmore county idaho hypnotist_** ”

Still nothing.

Aw, gosh darn it. Fine, then. “ ** _stage hypnotist idaho_** ”

Now a few links pop up. There’s “Dr. Trance,” a big, fat, bald guy in a bad suit. He’s out of Boise. I don’t think its him that I saw in the woods Friday night. There’s also the Amazing Mental Kreshani, a dude in a turban and very dark skin. I don’t think I saw Kreshani, either, but who knows? I didn’t actually see the hypnotist’s face. Only his butt. His butt was pretty light-skinned. And very tight. In fact-

Horrified at my smutty train of thought, I slap myself, as hard as I can.

And, at this moment, my office door opens. Joyce, my secretary, is entering, a steaming coffee mug in one hand. She freezes, ogling me smacking my own face.

Aw, phooey. “Er, mornin’, Joyce,” I mutter quickly. “Just… ah… Just doin’ the old sales slap. It, eh, gets you motivated.”

Joyce’s eyebrows are raised to the top of her forehead. “…okay,” she warbles. “But, Mr. Hayshaw, I thought you would be in the conference room.”

I hurriedly turn off my monitor. “Naw,” I say hurriedly, “I’ve got a ton of papersex. I mean, paper ** _work!_** Paperwork. That’s right, paperwork, darnit.“

“Alrighty…” Joyce mumbles, looking puzzled. “But, ah, didn’t you look over the Five Star Girl Schedule?”

“The what now?”

“The Five Star Girl Training Schedule,” frowns Joyce. “You know, the program started today. The girls – and that Jennifer Upton – are in the conference room, right now. They’re wondering where you are.”

A thunderbolt of anxiety explodes within my chest. “Conference room?” I say weakly.

Joyce nods. “Right now, Mr. Hayshaw.”

 ** _I completely forgot about the Five Star Girls Training Program!_** I haven’t prepared a darn thing!

“Oh, sweet Moses!” I yelp.

Then I leap to my feet and dash for the conference room. Joyce rushes after me.

**** **** **** ****

Our conference room is up on the second floor. Its fairly large, well-furbished, with bay windows looking out towards the Rocky Mountains. I read somewhere that if you don’t have a scenic conference room, you don’t succeed in business. So we paid quite a bit to make the Five Star conference room ritzy.

When I burst through the conference room door, there are already eight young women sitting there, all looking at me expectantly. There’s our six contest finalists, including Beth Summers and Chrissie Mae Macintosh. And, of course, the Goddess of Beauty herself, Sue Ellen Hickory. Dang! Sue Ellen looks more radiant than ever. She has the beauty of ten supermodels.

Sitting before me and cringing in embarrassment at my entrance is my niece, Abbie. I mean **_Abigail_** ; her mother tells me Abbie doesn’t like her little-girl-name any more.

And at the far end of the table is Jennifer Upton, looking more disgruntled than usual. “Nice of you to remember us, Ron,” she says disapprovingly. “Now, when will the coffee and donuts be arriving? We’ve been sitting here for nearly forty minutes.”

“Coffee?” I repeat. “…?”

Oh. Oh, jeez, I was supposed to bring a selection of coffee and donuts, that’s right.. The training packet we sent to the girls told them not to worry about breakfast; Five Star would cater.

I completely forgot!

“Uh, donuts’re coming,” I promise wildly. “They’re coming! In the meantime, why don’t we start the training?”

“Okay,” shrugs Jennifer.

All the ladies look at me expectantly.

Uh…

In the online business courses, they tell you over and over again: **_Whenever you have to present, always be prepared!_** It doesn’t matter if you are addressing clients, financers, shareholders, customers, competitors, employees, or the general public. Know exactly what you’re going to say, how you’re going to say it, and rehearse your presentation a little. The moment your audience smells that you don’t have anything prepped, they will turn on you.

My mouth runs dry. “Ah, welcome to Five Girl Star Training Class!” I say cheerfully. “I mean, Five Train Girl Star Class. Er, the Five Girl Sex Class Train… uh, welcome aboard!”

Crickets.

“Yeah,” I vamp, thinking furiously. “Yes, indeed. Yes, indeedy. Yes, indeedy indeedy do. Yeppers.”

Beth Summers and Chrissie Mae Macintosh exchange a perplexed look.

“So we’re here,” I say, moving to the whiteboard, my hands trembling, “to learn about sales. Sales. Yessir, sales. The art of sales. Of selling. Of selling sales. Salesmenship! That’s a funny word, isn’t it? Or is it sales ** _MAN_** ship? Men, or man? I don’t know. Kinda funny, right, girls? Heh heh heh.”

I hear footsteps approaching in the hallway, and then poor Joyce appears in the doorway, panting and red-faced. “ _Mr… Hayshaw…_ ” she wheezes, thrusting a stack of papers at me, “ _…you forgot… the class… schedule…_ ”

“Oh, right!” I chirp. I’d completely forgotten; I’d asked Joyce to type this up. Grateful for her intrusion, I grab the papers and hurriedly pass them out. Then, I read the schedule myself, for the first time.

It says:

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**_MONDAY: Getting-To-Know-You Introduction Session / Sales 101 Class / Lunch / Watch a Live Sale_ **

**_TUESDAY: Sales Techniques / Lunch / Modeling Class / Wardrobe / Evening Dinner Party (Summers’ residence)_ **

**_WEDNESDAY: Sales Techniques II / Acting for Commercials / Lunch / Learn the Five Star Inventory_ **

**_THURSDAY: Modeling II Class / Rehearse a Commercial / Lunch / Assist on the Sales Floor_ **

**_FRIDAY: Shoot a Commercial / Work the Sales Floor_ **

**_FRIDAY EVENING: ***Sales Presentation at Boise Auto Expo***_ **

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

My eyes pop. Jeez, why didn’t I prepare anything? This schedule looks busy.

I pause. “Evening dinner party? Summers’ Residence?” I read aloud.

“Oh yeah,” Beth Summers pipes up. “That was my mom’s idea. She thought it would be nice to host a dinner party at my place. But girls only, you understand? It would be a nice way for us to get to know one another, especially if we’re to be on the same sales team.”

“Ooo, good idea!” trills Sue Ellen. She smiles and flips that gorgeous brown hair.

“My mom thought of it, and called your office with the idea,” Beth explains to me. “Your secretary was nice enough to put it on the schedule.”

Joyce, still gasping to regain her breath, flashes a weak smile.

The other girls seem to light up. “Yay, a dinner party!” beams Chrissie Mae. “Fun!”

“Could we dress up a little?” Abbie asks hopefully. “And maybe have a little wine?”

“Maybe I should be on hand to chaperone that event, too,” Jennifer Upton says coolly. “Seems like a good idea.”

“Hey,” Chrissie Mae says sharply, studying the schedule some more. “…’ _Sales Presentation at Boise Auto Expo_ ’???”

“Oh, yeah,” I nod. “Almost forgot. When this class wraps up, you girls will be putting on a full sales presentation for Five Star!”

“At the **_Boise Auto Expo?_** ” Chrissie Mae wails.

The other girls go pale. “What…?” Sue Ellen wants to know. “Is, like, that Expo a big thing, or something…?”

“Its huge!” yelps Chrissie Mae. “Like, dealers and manufacturers and car enthusiasts from three states over come to this thing! My dad used to go. They’ll be, like, **_ten thousand people a day_** there.”

Now all the girls look terrified. They turn to me, anxious. “Mr. Hayshaw, are you serious?!?” more than one of them ask.

“Relax, relax, ladies,” I implore. “Friday night, to open the Expo for the weekend, they always allow dealerships like ours do a little sales presentation, just to warm up the crowd. You’ll only have to present for ten minutes, tops.”

“ ** _Ten minutes?_** ” Abbie almost shrieks. You’d think she’d been sentenced to death.

“Ladies,” I say a little more firmly. “After this week, you’ll be saleslady rock stars. Okay? Trust me.”

The girls look unconvinced.

I take a deep breath, wishing I felt calmer myself. “Now,” I say, “let’s talk sale techniques…”

**** **** **** ****

Somehow, by the grace of God, I am able to fake my way through a crude Sales 101 class. The girls are quick learners, asking all the right questions. Even the supremely-gorgeous-but-dumb-as-nails Sue Ellen seems to absorb my lessons. By lunchtime, we’ve covered the basics of a sale: Listen / Discover the Customers’ Needs / Customize / Close.

In the meantime, I have poor Joyce make a frantic run to the Idaho Pizza Company to pick up some pizzas and soda pops. As the girls are eating, I return to my office and hurriedly prep instruction for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, there isn’t that much to prepare. In fact, all the girls have to do is tag along with me as I walk the showroom floor and make a few sales. As long as I can keep focused and sell a car or two, I can get through the rest of today.

Luckily, all the girls came dressed in business casual… although I have to frown at Abbie’s tennis shoes. “I don’t have work shoes,” she complains.

“Borrow a pair from your mom,” I tell her.

With all the girls watching and Abbie trailing in the back, I approach an older gentleman and his wife, looking over the beige Buick Roadmaster we have in the main window. “Howdy, folks!” I say brightly. “I’m Ron Hayshaw. May I help you find a car today?”

The old folks smile back as me. “Oh, my goodness!” the wife warbles. “My goodness. I told my Stanley, I told him, I betcha if we go to Five Star, we’ll get that handsome feller, what who’s up on the billboards. And here he is!”

“Stanley Weaver,” the older gent introduces himself. “This here is m’wife, Ethel.”

“Great to meet’cha, Stanley. Welcome, Ethel,” I mug, shaking hands. “We here at Five Star have three key elements to every sale: Quality. Value. Family Traditions.”

Ethel beams, recognizing our advertising slogan.

“So,” I say warmly, “what kind of car are you two young lovebirds looking for?”

Ethel blushes again. “Oh, well, gosh, my Stanley, he likes a car for highway driving,” she burbles. “But honestly, I just need something to get me to the Walmart and back. I don’t like big highways.”

“Women drivers,” Stanley interjects.

What follows is a detailed history of every car Stanley and Ethel have ever owned. I listen carefully, knowing that after two minutes, I can gently take control of the conversation.

But… behind me, I head a pair of men’s shoes approaching. “Hey, how you ladies doin’?” I hear a young man’s voice murmur.

“Hello there, stranger,” I hear Sue Ellen reply, a smile in her voice. The other girls murmur.

“Look at you all,” the guy marvels. “Growing up to be official salesladies. I’m impressed. Y’all are so gorgeous, you could sell salt water to a sailor.”

“Flatterer,” laughs Sue Ellen… but she is amused. All the Five Star girl trainees are.

I risk a quick glance over my shoulder, and see that the guy is Hank, Hank Greene! Our newest associate! He should be patrolling the sales floor! Not hitting up on the girls!

A flash of annoyance overcomes me. Gosh darn it, this is a business, and Hank can find a date on his own time. Right now, the girls should be paying sole attention to me!

But here’s the thing… I’m just developing report with Stanley and Ethel. If I seem like I’m not completely hanging on their every word, I’ll lose them in the blink of an eye. I can’t do anything but concentrate on them.

“So, how’s class so far?” Hank wants to know. His voice is purring with charm. “You ladies will be presenting at the Boise Auto Expo, you know. Big leagues.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” replies Chrissie Mae, sounding nervous.

“You’ll be fine,” Hank assures her.

“We’re also, like, having, like, a dinner party tomorrow night,” Sue Ellen adds. “All formal ‘n stuff.”

“Dinner party?” the young man says, and I can practically hear his eyebrows lift. “You don’t say. Where?”

Oh for Lands’ sakes! Doesn’t Hank have anywhere else to be? And where is Jennifer Upton, anyway? This is when I need a chaperone.

“At the Summers’ place!” Abbie almost cries. “You know it, right?” She sounds eager. “You should come.”

“Yeah, Hank,” Sue Ellen says, her voice rippling with amusement. “You should come. Seven o’clock. In fact-“

“ ** _Well?_** ” Ethel says to me, interrupting my thoughts. “Do think you have that?”

I blink. Stanley and Ethel, my two customers, are staring at me, waiting.

“I, er… I’m sorry?” I stammer.

Stanley frowns. “I just asked you: Do you have this towncar with that new kind of fancy power steering. Do you?”

My mind is blank. “Uh… Yes, yes we do,” I guess blindly. “Sorry, Steve, I was-“

“Stanley,” snaps my customer. His expression isn’t so warm anymore.

“Stanley, of course,” I burble. “New power steering. Ah. Hmm. You know…” I think for a second. “Ah, actually, no, I don’t think we do, folks. But if you’d like to see-“

“Come on, Ethel,” Stanley grunts. “We can still go to Champion Toyota before bridge club tonight.” They turn away as if I’ve never existed.

I let out a shaky breath. Doggone it, I hate losing a sale!

Trying to keep my emotions in check, I turn on Hank. “Mr. Greene,” I say through clenched teeth, “shouldn’t you be greeting other customers?”

“Eh, sorry, Chief,” Hank says smoothly. “I’ve already made my sales quota for the day. And I go off-shift in twenty minutes.”

He’s slick, this Hank. I glare at him, feeling my moustache quiver.

“Then tell you what,” I grumble. “Just man the Main Sales Desk, will ya? And do the in-store messages. The girls should be learning from me, not chatting with you.”

Hank shrugs. “Sure thing, boss.” And he ambles off. I note with alarm that most of the girls, including Abbie, watches him walk away.

“Where’s Jennifer Upton?” I snap.

“Ladies’ Room,” Beth says simply.

Figures.

“Come along, girls, we’ll make a sale yet,” I say with determination, and smooth down my moustache.

**** **** **** ****

But the pickings are slim. Monday afternoons are a dealership’s slow hours, and today is especially dead. I’m reduced to asking Joyce pretend to be a customer, just so I can role-play a sale. Joyce is a terrible actress.

As I’m talking, I hear the song playing on the speakers dim. “ _Attention, Five Star customers,_ ” Hank’s smooth tones say over the PA. “ _We hope you’re having a relaxing time here at our showroom. After all, there’s nothing like relaxing and letting your mind go, once you’re behind the wheel of a new Five Star Buick or Cadillac._ ”

I hesitate. _Relax? Let your mind go?_ Why does that sound so familiar…?

Then it hits me like a sixteen-wheeler: That voice! I’ve heard Hank’s silky voice, saying those words before!

**_Hank Greene is the hypnotist!_ **

**** **** **** ****


	4. Hypnosis is Harmless Fun

The more I try to convince myself I must be wrong, the more I realize I am dead-on right: Hank Greene, my newest sales associate Hank Greene, **_is the hypnotist I witnessed at the Potato Patch Fair!_** The hypnotist who mesmerized that poor young lady into having filthy butt-sex! The more I listen to Hank speak, the more I’m certain.

What’s more, when I just plumb look at Hank, I realize that his body type matches that of the hypnotist’s. How did I not see it before? Hank is lean, muscular, has a crew cut… even a tight butt.

I’m convinced. Hank’s the man.

Jiminy Christmas, I’m now looking at men’s butts! Oh, Lordy.

What do I do? Call the police? I’ve got no evidence, none whatsoever. The police here in White Pine Rapids are nice guys, but they won’t appreciate my baloney story, not if I don’t have some proof.

But… how can I allow Hank to work the showroom now? **_Is he hypnotizing the customers?_** Oh Lord… **_Is he hypnotizing the customers and then having filthy butt-sex with them after?_** Oh, Lord, Lord, Lord…! I feel sick.

**** **** **** ****

I make an excuse to end the girls’ training early, then hurry back to my office. Within three minutes, I’m doing Yahoo searches on hypnosis.

There’s a lot of strange stuff out there. But almost immediately, I read this on _whatishypnotism.com_ :

**_Hypnotism is not a form of mind control. To experience the hypnotic state, a person must expressly agree to be hypnotized. And even once they are in a deep, somnambulistic state, a hypnotized person still retains control over their will and beliefs._ **

Huh. That’s mighty reassuring… but how then did Hank mesmerize that poor girl into that disgusting… ugh, I can’t even think it.

On another website, I see this:

**_A deeply hypnotized person is highly suggestible. This means that while under hypnosis, they can momentarily believe what the hypnotist instructs them to believe. They will also find it difficult, if not impossible, to resist the hypnotist’s suggestions._ **

And on an Internet chatboard, I see a bunch of people talking about what it felt like when they got hypnotized. One of them, wonderbro539, remarks:

**_Hypnosis is harmless fun. Harmless. And fun._ **

Well… that doesn’t sound so bad.

After reading a few more encouraging comments, I find a link on YouTube, simply called “ _Hypnotized Girl._ ” I click it, curious.

The little computer window comes to life, showing a nice-looking young man and a pretty lady, perhaps a little older than Abbie. They stand, facing the camera, smiling.

“ _Hi!_ ” the young man says proudly. “ _I’m Tony Plaaz, and this here is Camile._ ”

“ _Hi_ ,” Camile waves.

“ _I’m a hypnotist, and just before we started filming, I put Camile here under deep hypnosis,_ ” Tony brags.

The young lady’s brow furrows. “ _No… you didn’t,_ ” she disagrees. “ _I don’t remember-_ “

Tony snaps his fingers, directly before Camile’s face.

The young girl gawks, just for a second. Then her expression changes, becoming sultry and seductive. She starts swaying her hips in time to unheard music. Its like she’s under a spell. Her slender hands begin pulling her thin tee shirt over her head-

 ** _Sweet Baby Jesus!_** I hurriedly click off the YouTube window.

What am I doing to do? We have a perverted hypnotist, right here at Five Star Family Motors! Oh Lands’ Sakes! My mind reels…

**** **** **** ****

Distracted and anxious, I decide to focus on what I can control. (Serenity!) I leave the dealership for the night. I take Buster, my chocolate lab, for a walk. Then gulp down a bowl of Captain Crunch for dinner. By 7:00 PM, I’m in my home office, furiously planning out the rest of the girls’ training course. There’s a lot to do. Buster snoozes by my feet.

My cell rings right at 8:30 PM. I pick up on speakerphone. “Howdy hoi!” I say, still obsessing over the “Sales Techniques” Powerpoint slide that I’ll be presenting in the morning.

“ _Hey there, Sweetie Pie._ ” Its Bev. She sounds slightly annoyed.

I pause. “Oh… heck!” I exclaim, realizing why she’s calling. “We were supposed to have dinner tonight!”

“ _Yep,_ ” Bev says tartly. But then she sighs. “ _You have a lot of work to catch up on?_ ”

I pass a hand over my weary face. “Yeah… Gosh, Babycakes, I’m just so sorry.”

Bev’s voice softens. “ _That’s okay. I know ya hafta work hard, baby._ ”

I feel relieved. Bev’s a good gal. “Let me make it up to you, okay?” I ask. “Tomorrow night? We can go to Texas Mex’s Barbeque?” Her favorite.

“ _Oh, I got plans for tomorrow,_ ” says Bev, sounding apologetic. “ _Something with girlfriends. Maybe Wednesday?_ ”

We talk schedules for a moment before settling on Wednesday night. Then Bev lets me get back to work, and I dive back into my presentation. Within five minutes, I’m focused and have forgotten her.

**** **** **** ****

Thanks to doing a lot of catch-up work into the evening, I’m ready to properly teach the girls in Tuesday morning’s training. As they down fresh donuts and coffee (thankfully I remembered this time), I step them through basic sales techniques. Jennifer Upton sits in the back, still suspicious of everything.

Overall, the training session goes well. The girls are clearly worried about their big presentation on Friday, and more than once I have to assure them that by the end of the week, they’ll be ready.

“Confidence is key,” I repeat for the umpteenth time. “If your audience sees you as confident, you’ll make the sale. Now remember the three key elements of Five Star’s business.” I tick the elements out on my fingers: “Quality! Value! And family traditions!”

The girls nod, writing that down in their notebooks.

More lecture. Then we break for lunch, then the modeling and wardrobe consultants from Boise that I hired appear to take control of the second half of the day. Again, the girls do well. But I hover, nervously smoothing my moustache. Jennifer Upton watches the whole ordeal in judgmental silence.

And then, the day is over. I’m surprisingly exhausted. This whole training class is more stressful than I imagined. I wonder why?

The girls leave the dealership for the evening, already laughing and talking about their ladies-only dinner party tonight. I’d almost forgotten about it.

**** **** **** ****

When I get home, Buster is eagerly waiting for me. You know the best reason to have a dog? Because whenever you have a lousy day, you know for sure that there’s someone at home who’ll be delighted to see you. I’m thrilled to see him.

As I romp around with Buster on the lawn, it occurs to me that I’m not meeting with Bev tonight. Ah, gee. Might as well take the dog for an extra-long walk, I guess. Clearing my head might do me some good.

So I put on a Boise Hawks windbreaker, hook Buster to his leash, and soon the two of us are strolling through my neighborhood. Its about 7:30 PM, and the sun is just going down. Its pleasant out. I allow Buster to lead me down Apple Tree Lane, then West Church St., then down Bergeson Avenue. Buster’s excited to be out and about.

We climb the hill on Ashbury Circle, and then the dog pauses to inspect an interesting tree. As I patently wait for him, it occurs to me… from up here, you can see down onto Bruster Lane. The Summers’ live on Bruster Lane. That’s where the girls are having their dinner party. Hmm. By this late in the night, the party should be breaking up, shouldn’t it?

I peer down the hill, studying the houses. Bruster Lane runs right up to the thick forest, and there’s not a lot of houses. I was over at the Summers’ house for a Christmas party, a few years back. So it should be pretty easy…

Hey, there it is. The house is partly obscured by a tree, but I can see most of the Summers’ back yard. Looks like they have the patio lights on.

I blink when I realize that on the Summers’ back patio, there about ten young women, all sitting in deck chairs, all motionless. Are they trying to get a suntan? No, that makes no sense. What in…?

Then a young man appears, strolling before the women, talking and gesturing with his hands. I didn’t see him before because of the tree. What’s he doing?

I suck in a surprised breath. Why, that young man… its Hank Greene!

The instant I recognize him, Hank lifts one hand in the air and then snaps his fingers.

And with that, the ladies all leap out of their seats, as one. They begin dancing madly, as if they are competing with one another in a dance-off. Some are doing simple country steps, while others are boogieing club or disco style. But all the ladies are happily shaking their booties.

Immediately, I know: Hank’s got them all hypnotized! This is just like the YouTube video I saw! Oh, for Pete’s sake… he’s not gonna make them take off their clothes, is he?

Oh, **_jeez._**

“Com’on, Buster,” I command, yanking on the surprised dog’s leash.

My canine friend and I hurry back along Ashbury Circle, then turn onto Bruster Lane. The whole time, I’m thinking, what can I do? I’ll have to rush in there and stop the hypnotism, I guess. Hank Greene can’t be allowed to brainwash my Five Star Girls!

As Buster and I jog down Bruster Lane, I spot a lot of cars parked before the Summer’s house. Hank’s 2006 Buick Terraza is here, parked right next to the woods.

I’m about to charge into the Summers’ back yard, when I stop and realize… _What am I about to do?_ What if I’m wrong, and about to make a fool of myself? I have a reputation in town to consider.

Doubt seizes me. _Hypnosis is harmless fun_ , that one online guy said. Maybe…

I hear the sound of Hank’s words, and then all of the ladies laugh out loud. They sound like they’re having a great time.

Uncertain and confused, I decide to err on the side of caution. Buster and I slink away.

**** **** **** ****

But an hour later, I’m rethinking my decision. **_Over_** thinking my decision, actually. For Gosh’s sakes, **_I saw Hank use hypnosis to make a woman have filthy butt-sex with him!_** He’s obviously a powerful hypnotist. He can do whatever he wants to his subjects!

 _Oh, Jeepers,_ I realize with horror. _Abbie’s over there! My niece!_

And with that, panic takes over. I grab my jacket and sprint for the door. Buster watches me, bemused.

No time to jog over to the Summers’ house. Its dark out, anyway. I leap into my Chrysler v8 Sedan, gun the motor, and then I’m off, racing through the streets! I try to push the image of an entranced Abbie, standing before that hornball, eagerly pulling off her jeans…

Gah!

I less than five minutes flat, I arrive on Bruster Lane. Most of the cars parked outside the Summers’ house are gone. But Hank’s car is still here.

My heart pounding, I park the car, right behind Hank’s. Then I kill the engine and roll down the window. My car’s right at the edge of the woods.

Jeepers, what am I doing? I’m not thinking clearly.

As I rummage through my car’s jockey box, looking for a flashlight, I hear a voice. A woman’s voice! I freeze. The words are distant, and I can’t hear what is being said, but it sounds like…

“Ohhhhhh…!” the woman cries out. She’s shouting, but her voice is still muffled.

I look about. Oh Jiminy, she’s back in the woods! Behind me! I peer at my rear view mirror, but I don’t see anything but dark trees.

I don’t know what to do. I glance up and down Bruster Lane. Most of the houses are dark, as people here go to bed after 9:00 PM. There’s the flicker of a TV in the upstairs bedroom of the house on the corner, but otherwise, this street is asleep.

“Oh!” the woman yells and moans, “oh, Master, oh fuck me, oh fuck my ass so hard! I fucking love your hot cock in my asshole! Oh, fuck, fuck, **_fuck!!!_** I’m your hypnotized bitch, fuck me, yeah!”

My heart thuds. There’s no doubt what Hank has done now.

Holy moly, what am I to do? Call the police? Charge into the woods and stop this? I’m paralyzed with indecision.

Judging from her voice, this woman isn’t the same the hypnotized lady I saw at the Hayseed Fair. But when a person is screaming sex obscenities, who can tell for sure?

The woman wails, “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh… I’M CUMMING!!! Oh, fuck, yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah!” I see the bushes shake, and I don’t think that’s from the wind.

The yells of delight fade, and then I hear faint, female laughter. Then silence.

I sit in my car, clutching the flashlight, sweating like a sinner in church. My crazed thoughts zip in all different directions.

Oh for the Love of Mike, what if that’s Abbie back there? My sister Erica would never forgive me!

Five minutes pass. Several times, I’m about to open my car door to step out… only I change my mind at the last minute. I’ve never been so paralyzed with indecisiveness before.

Then, the bushes in the forest part. Through my rear view mirror, I see two people emerge, a man and a woman. Although I can’t see their faces in the darkness, I know that the man is Hank. There’s no mistaking his thin frame, crew cut, or arrogant swagger. I slink down in my seat, strangely afraid for Hank to see me.

The hypnotist and his lady friend walk right by my car, chatting softly. The woman sounds happy. She’s wearing jeans and a nice pink blouse. Her bushy brown hair is disheveled, but she hasn’t realized it yet. Neither of them have noticed that I am here.

The strange couple cross the street, and I see the woman dip into her purse. She pulls out car keys, and as she turns to face Hank, I can see her face in the bright moonlight.

Oh… shoot. The woman is Sue Ellen Hickory. Her exquisite beauty is undeniable.

Sue Ellen looks up into Hank’s face, her eyes shining. “I loved that, Master,” she sighs, reaching to touch Hank’s fingers.

The hypnotist passes a hand before Sue Ellen’s face. “You will forget…” he tells her firmly.

Instantly, Sue Ellen’s expression goes blank. She stares at Hank, completely rooted on the spot.

Smirking, Hank turns away and moves to his car. Sue Ellen remains where she’s standing, like a statue. She’s mesmerized.

There’s a bone-chilling moment when Hank glances at my vehicle and I think he’s seen me. But the young guy yanks his own car door open, gets in, and starts the motor. He flicks on his headlights, and drives off. Within seconds, he’s gone.

Aghast, yet unable to look away, I watch Sue Ellen. White Pine Rapid’s beauty goddess stands transfixed, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes wide open, gazing into nothing.

Then Sue Ellen blinks, coming back to awareness. She looks about, surprised.

She doesn’t see me, thank the Lord.

The stunning young woman takes a moment to collect her thoughts. Then she shrugs, turns, and strolls to her own car, a beat-up Subaru Outback. Before she climbs in, she pauses to tenderly rub her bottom, just a little. Right over her poophole! Oh, Lordy!

Then Sue Ellen drives off. And I’m left in the dark, wondering how things could get any worse.

**** **** **** ****


	5. It Was Honestly the Most Fun I’ve Had in a Long Time

I dread setting foot into the conference room the next morning. But there’s a training class to teach.

The girls look up at me with pleasant smiles. “Good morning, Mr. Hayshaw,” they chorus.

Jennifer Upton, sitting in the back of the room, glances up from her Bible Studies magazine to offer me a humorless smile.

“Uh… hi everybody…” I mumble, setting the box of donuts on the table. The girls seem relaxed and almost carefree. “So, ah, how was your dinner party last night?”

The girls nod appreciatively. “Yeah, it was good,” Chrissie Mae tells me, opening the box. “It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

“Right,” Beth agrees. “It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

My eyes bulge. Wait… Did both girls just say the exact same thing?

“Okay,” I say, hoping I sound casual. “Well, everyone enjoyed themselves?”

“Oh, like, yeah,” chirps Sue Ellen. “It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Totally.”

I did hear that right… Chrissie Mae, Beth, and Sue Ellen repeated the exact same thing, word-for-word. I can’t have imagined it.

I find myself watching Sue Ellen as she selects a pink glazed donut. The beauty queen settles back in her chair, then winces and shifts all her weight onto her left buttock. Her bottom’s sore! Oh cripes, her bottom’s sore.

Sue Ellen glances up and catches me staring at her. “…what?” she asks.

“Nothing, nothing…!” I blurt. “I’m just glad you had a good time last night.”

Shrugging, Sue Ellen says, “It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” She bites into her donut.

I glance around the table. No-one seems to notice anything weird is going on. Am I going coocoo?

**** **** **** ****

Somehow I’m able to focus and get through today’s lecture. There’s not much to teach today, and the girls have to rush off to the modeling class once I’m done. The modeling instructor flew in all the way from Colorado, and she cost Five Star a pretty penny. I don’t want the girls to miss anything.

As the young ladies gather their purses and file out of the conference room, I suddenly find myself gazing at Jennifer Upton. Of course! Jennifer! She was chaperoning at the Summers’ party last night! I feel relieved. Jennifer will tell me that there were no shenanigans.

I tap Jennifer on the shoulder as she’s about to leave the conference room.

“What?” she asks me, annoyed.

“Hey, ah, Jennifer,” I say lightly. “So, I was glad you could make the dinner party last night.”

“Of course, Ron,” Jennifer shrugs.

In a dark whisper, I ask her, “Anything weird happen? You know, anything… weird?”

“No,” frowns the chaperone. “It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Okay?”

My jaw falls open like a trapdoor.

But Jennifer ignores me. She edges by me and hurries after the girls, unaware of anything unusual having happened.

**** **** **** ****

Although I’d like to keep an eye on modeling class, the other parts of Five Star need me. I am pulled into my office to discuss some inventory matters with the big boys at Chrysler. We may have to delay our Presidents’ Day sale next year, dangit.

But as soon as I can, I extract myself and hurry back rejoin to the girls. By now, they’ve finished class, and are heading off to our employee breakroom for a quick lunch.

I spot Abbie, trailing the group. “Abbie!” I hiss, gesturing furiously.

My niece gives me a sour look.

“Sorry, sorry, **_Abigail_** ,” I correct myself. “C’mere, please.”

Abigail steps over to me. “What’s up, Uncle Ron?”

“Listen,” I babble, not taking time for pleasantries, “did you guys all get hypnotized at the Summers’ house last night?”

Abbie… er, Abigail stares at me, then laughs softly. “Yeah, we did,” she smiles, remembering. “It was cool. Hey, how’d ya know?”

I feel my moustache tremble. “Why did you guys do that???”

“Oh,” the teenager smirks, “well, that Hank guy dropped by. He’s cute! All the girls think he’s handsome. Anyways, we’re chatting him up, and Hank mentions that he knows hypnotism, and why don’t we all try it?”

I stare at her. “You didn’t!”

Abigail shrugs. “Sure, I did! Why not? You adults won’t let us try alcohol.” Now she chuckles at the memory. “It was fun, real fun.”

I can’t believe this. “What… did Hank make you do?” I ask fearfully.

“Ah, you know,” my niece says airily. “We had to compete in this imaginary dance competition, and then we all thought we were celebrities, and then we thought we were glued into our chairs. Stuff like that.” She grins again. “And Hank told us, whenever someone asked us how the party went, we’d… Well, ask me.”

“How was the party?” I ask, almost cringing.

Automatically, Abigail responds, “It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.” Then she laughs again. “See? I **_have_** to say that. I can’t stop myself when you ask me.” She composes herself. “Ask me again.”

Reluctantly, I say, “How was the party?”

“It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” Abigail says with a straight face, then breaks out into giggles. “I have to say that! I can’t help it. Its so weird when you want to stop yourself, but can’t.”

I feel a headache coming on. “But… Ms. Upton, your chaperone was there! Did she get hypnotized too?”

“Cranky Jennifer?” Abigail makes a face. “I dunno. I don’t remember her going under. She said she didn’t want to. But Hank is really good at hypnotizing, you know? So maybe Jennifer went under anyways. There’s a lot I don’t remember.” She shrugs casually. “Hypnosis is harmless fun, you know.”

I regard my sister’s little girl with horror. “So… Hank just hypnotized you to do the harmless fun stuff, right?”

Abigail nods thoughtfully. “Harmless fun. And, well, something else.”

Before thinking, I blurt out, “Like… **_perverted sex stuff?_** ”

Immediately, my niece’s face turns into a mask of disgust. “Eww, Uncle Ron! No! Gross! No!”

“Abs, girl!” Beth calls out from the breakroom. “Get in here, you’re missing lunch!”

Still gagging at my question, Abigail turns and walks away. I stare after, feeling the urge to vomit myself.

Its clear to me now: Hank, using his slimy powers, has mesmerized all the Five Star Girls, every last one of them. Now under his mental control, they believe the warped ideas he’s put into their heads! He’s even dominated Jennifer Upton! And he’s having filthy butt sex with the girls, **_my girls_** , one-by-one. He’s a wolf in control of the innocent flock.

I can’t let this continue. I’m calling the police.

**** **** **** ****

But as I move to stride into my office, Joyce, my secretary springs up from her desk. Her expression is whiter than usual.

In my flustered state, I almost groan when I see Joyce. I’m really not in the mood for another one of her hand-wringing sessions, not right now!

“Oh, Mr. Hayshaw, Mr. Hayshaw!” Joyce frets, moving to intercept me. “Mr. Hayshaw!”

“Not now, Joyce,” I grouse.

As I try to push into my office, my secretary blocks my way. She looks like she might actually tackle me. “But, Mr. Hayshaw!” she protests.

“ ** _What?_** ” I almost yell.

“Sarah Henderson from the bank is on Line One!” cries Joyce. “She says its urgent – she might have a financial backer for you!”

My thoughts derail. A backer? **_Now?_**

Holy cow! Completely forgetting about hypnotists and amoral filthy butt-sex, I scramble past Joyce, and scoop up my phone. “Ron Hayshaw,” I say breathlessly into the receiver.

“ _’Ay there, Ronny Boy,_ ” Sarah Henderson’s brassy voice greets me. “ _Lissen, do I got good news for you! I got a wealthy client, somebody looking to sink money into the White Pine Rapids area. He’d be perfect for you!_ ”

“Wow,” I say, dumbfounded. “How’d you…?”

“ _I’m just that good, Ronny Boy,_ ” brags Sarah. “ _No, seriously, this guy was a last-minute find. His name’s Arthur Macdonald. Older guy. Serious evangelical Christian. You ever heard of him?_ ”

“No,” I admit.

 _“Yeah, me neither. But Mr. Macdonald has, I gather, about five million dollars to play with. You want him to put it into Five Star?_ ”

“Gosh, yes!” I exclaim. Absently, I smooth down my moustache.

“ _Then we’ll have to move quickly,_ ” Sarah says, becoming all-business. “ _Macdonald and his wife were all set to invest in a chain of White Pine Rapids dry-cleaning places. But then it comes out that the owner of the dry-cleaning places is going through a divorce. Macdonald thinks that divorce is a sin and he’s having second thoughts._ ” Sarah’s voice becomes hard. “ _Now, you and Five Star are absolutely serious about your wholesome family image?_ ”

I swallow. “Absolutely.”

“ _Good,_ ” trumpets Sarah. “ _You’ll have to go to Macdonald’s house, introduce yourself, and sell him on Five Star. He’s still leaning towards putting his money into the dry-cleaners. But if he likes you, he’ll change patronage._ ”

“Well, selling myself is what I do, gosh darn it,” I gush… and am immediately embarrassed by my course language. I move to sit behind my desk.

Sarah laughs. “ _Glad to hear it. Now, you better get on the road. You’ve got a drive ahead of you._ ”

I nearly topple out of my chair. “What?”

“ _Macdonald and his wife live out by Jonas Creek. I made some calls already, and they’re expecting you for dinner._ ”

“Jonas Creek?” I echo. “That’s on the other side of the state, past Idaho Falls!”

“ _It’s a good five hour drive,_ ” agrees Sarah. “ _So if I were you, I’d get movin’._ ”

**** **** **** ****

I fly out of the dealership, grabbing only my briefcase and a coffee-to-go. “Jimmy, take over the girls’ training for the rest of the day, will ya?” I shout as I race to my Sedan.

“But I’m not really a teacher!” Jimmy yells back.

I don’t have time for him. I flash a thumbs-up, pile into my Sedan, then roar out of the dealership. Within five minutes, I’m on Interstate 84 heading east, my heart still pounding in my chest.

My Lord! I can’t believe it! I might secure the funding for the second Five Star location tonight!

**** **** **** ****

But as I tear down the highway, my thoughts slow down. I start to think through more immediate logistics.

I completely forgot about Buster! My poor dog! I sure won’t be home in time to feed and walk him.

So I pull into the slow lane, then fish my phone out of my pocket. Hoping the Idaho State Troopers aren’t watching, I dial Bev and then put her on my car’s speaker.

Bev picks up.

“ _Hey there, Honeybunny,_ ” she chirps. “ _Hey, you want me to get those rodeo tickets for your birthday? Because I heard-_ “

“One thing at a time, Babycakes,” I interrupt. “Listen, I-“

“ _Oh hey!_ ” Bev cuts me off. “ _Listen, Betty Wimple is just coming into the salon for her appointment. ‘Fraid I really can’t talk right now._ ” She pauses. “ _Oh gosh, are you on the highway?_ ”

“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” I say rapidly. “Lissen, I gotta drive out east.”

“ _You’re canceling our make-up date?_ ” Bev mopes, disappointed.

As briefly as I can, I explain the situation.

“ _Oh,_ ” says Bev. She’s impressed. “ _Oh, Sugarbear, that’s wonderful! I’m just so proud of you!_ ”

“Thanks, Babycakes,” I grin in relief. “Hey, can you watch over Buster? I won’t be back in time to walk him or feed him.”

“ _Sure thing, Cutiepie. Buster and I get along great._ ”

My girlfriend is so wonderful.

“Yeah, I’m just so sorry about our date,” I sigh. “But if this pans out, it’ll be worth it. Real quick: you and your girlfriends had a good time last night?”

“ _It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time,_ ” Bev tells me automatically. “ _Oh, Betty’s ready! Safe drive, Sweetheart._ ” She blows a kiss, then hangs up.

Wait… did Bev just say what I think she just said???

**** **** **** ****

As I drive east, I begin to obsess over Bev’s words. Could I have misheard her? Gosh, I hope so.

The worry is eating me alive. Is it possible that I’m overthinking this Hank the Hypnotist thing? I mean… Gosh, I hope so. I mean, if one hypnotist could entice so many ladies into having filthy butt-sex, wouldn’t there be thousands of perverted hypnotists on the loose? What if there are?

Jeepers, a fellow could go crazy thinking about this.

Well, I can’t worry about this now. I’m on a mission. I force these doubts from my mind.

Thankfully, traffic on the Interstate isn’t too bad. The Rocky Mountain scenery is breathtaking, I gotta say. As I travel further east, the sun begins to descend into the western sky.

**** **** **** ****

Its about six o’clock in the evening when take the Interstate exit for Jonas Creek. The day is over, and I can see the stars coming out, high above.

Maybe fifteen minutes later, I find myself driving up Arthur Macdonald’s long driveway. Lands’ sakes, the Macdonalds live in a deluxe mountain lodge all of their own, right on their own private lake. I didn’t know we had private lakes in Idaho! Wow. The view of the pine tree forest and the mountains is a pretty as anything God ever created.

I drive up to the main house, then park in a twenty car garage, right off the main lodge. There’s a number of luxury SUVs, 4X4’s, and ATV’s here, all latest models, all immaculately-maintained.

Feeling awed by the obvious wealth on display here, I take my briefcase and walk up to the main house, climbing the steps onto the porch. Jeepers, this place is built from imported redwood! Rustic, but classy at the same time. I ring the doorbell.

Soft footsteps approach, and then the door swings open. A trim, athletic woman of perhaps fifty looks out at a me and smiles. “You’re Ronny, aren’cha?” she asks, her Midwestern accent strong. “Com’on in, Art’s been waiting fer ya!” She beams. “I’m Margie, Art’s missus, don’cha know. Thanks for comin’ all the way out here for a late supper. Hope ya like barbeque.”

Margie gestures, and I’m led through the house. Its big, but I don’t have time to gawk at the expansive living room, the hunting trophy hall, the billiards room, the wall-to-wall Christian art, or the movie theatre-like TV room. No, I’m led directly out to the rear dining room, which has a breathless view of the crystal blue lake and the proud mountains beyond. Even under the moonlight, the view is spectacular.

To the right, there’s a passageway to the kitchen. My hungry stomach can detect the mouth-watering smell of roasting pork. And to the left is a table of hardwood and marble, set for three people.

Rising from the table is a barrel-chested man. He sets his lit cigar into an ashtray. I see that he’s easily in his late fifties, with thinning red hair, a bushy beard, and bearlike hands. He extends a welcoming gesture towards me.

“Yer Ron?” he grins. “I’m Art. Yer made it all the way here, praise the Lord. Praise the Lord, brother! Here, hava seat. Hope yer hungry. I’m lookin’ forward t’ hearin’ all about yer Hayseed Five Star Motor Families.”

“Hayshaw Five Star Family Motors,” I correct gently.

“Eh?” Mr. Macdonald frowns. He points to his ear. “I’m hard ‘o hearin’, Sonny. Speak up.”

“Uh, of course,” I say, louder.

“That’s better!” Mr. Macdonald declares. He crushes my hand in a vicelike handshake, then indicates which chair I’m supposed to occupy. I meekly sit, suddenly feeling out-of-place in my business suit. Margie retreats back into the kitchen.

“So,” Mr. Macdonald rumbles, sitting and reaching for his cigar, “Sarah Henderson speaks mighty highly ‘o yer. Mighty highly. So let’s talk turkey.” He fixes me with a glaring eye, and now all of his earlier charm is gone. “Tell me, Sonny. Gimme yer pitch. Tell me all about, er, Haymaker Five Family Star Motors. Why should I invest with yer?”

This is a fairly standard situation in business. _Give me your elevator pitch._

So I clear my throat, smooth my moustache, and sit up straight. Then I sing the praises of Five Star, careful to use the full, proper name of the dealership carefully, but without rebuking Mr. Macdonald. As I talk, Margie sets down an enormous platter of steaming, juicy pork ribs, mashed potatoes, collard greens, baked yams, and cornbread.

“…and that’s why Hayshaw Five Star is the dealership of the future,” I finish proudly. “The sky’s our limit.”

Mr. Macdonald squints across the table, unmoved, his cigar between two sausagelike fingers.. Margie sits beside him. “It sounds very nice,” she tells me politely.

“Eh,” her husband frowns. “I dunno. I’m havin’ second thoughts.”

My heart dives into my shoes.

“Sarah Henderson sent my money guys all yer financials. They say yer look real good, real solid,” Mr. Macdonald says neutrally. “Usually car dealerships are lousy investments ‘cause they got too much cash on the books. Yer Five Motors Family has better fundamentals, money-wise.”

“But lookit you,” the millionaire scowls. “Yer just a kid, Sonny! Yer know how many young guys get greedy? ‘N then flame out?” He snorts.

“Oh, Art,” Margie says, disappointed.

I feel as if I’ve been stabbed. I hadn’t realized how high I’d let my hopes get until this moment.

“Ah, its probably fer the best,” Mr. Macdonald muses, as if I’m not here anymore. He stabs out his cigar. “Maybee it would be better to invest in that line of pool stores. What’re they called, again?”

“Splash-R-Us,” supplies Margie.

“Eh, that’s a dumb name,” Mr. Macdonald frowns. He moves a half-rack of ribs to his plate. “Maybee we shouldn’t be lookin’ in West Idaho.”

“Oh, Art, that’s where the best skiing is,” frets his wife. She begins helping herself to the collared greens.

I see my future slipping away.

“Mr. Macdonald,” I say firmly.

My hosts look at me, as if they’ve just realized I’m here.

I smooth down my moustache, just once. “Let me tell you why Hayshaw Five Star is a solid business, and we’re going to stand above our competition.”

“I’m listenin’,” Mr. Macdonald says without enthusiasm. He bites into a rib.

“We’re a family-centric business,” I stress. I begin to talk about my deep roots into the community. “Why, I’m even working with the White Pine Rapids Council, our community’s citizen group!”

Mr. Macdonald shakes his head, swallowing. “Ev’ry businessman tells me the same. Strong ties to the community. Family-centered business. I heard it a hundred times before.” He fixes me with a harsh glare. “Bein’ a family business is no guarantee of success. What makes yer business different from all the others? Eh? Why should I put money in?”

I realize: both the Macdonalds are watching me carefully.

I open my mouth. “Because… we’ve got a new mentorship program to update our advertising!” I hear myself say.

Mr. Macdonald drops a stripped rib on his plate. He cleans his fingers with a moist wipe. “Whaddya mean?”

By a miracle, I realize that I have some of the materials from the online course in my briefcase. “Look,” I say, opening the case. “What do people normally think of when they picture a car salesman?”

Margie nods, playing along. “Some city slicker with greasy hair, a bad suit, a little too clever for his own good.”

“Exactly,” I nod. “Why dealerships put those guys in TV commercials, I’ll never know. So at Five Star, we’re going in a different direction.”

I hand over the training materials, especially the glossy photos of young, professional businesswomen, all smiling pleasantly to the camera. “This is how I plan to invigorate our sales force,” I explain. “And make our commercials fresh and appealing.”

Mr. Macdonald studies the materials without comment. “Your sales girls look like this?” he asks, surprised.

“Actually…” I rummage about in my briefcase some more. Ah! There’s the headshots from the modeling session. “…they’ll look like this.” And I hand over our own glossy photos. Thank the Lord that Five Star’s logo is stamped on lower right hand corner.

Mr. Macdonald flips through the pictures slowly. His bushy eyebrows rocket up his forehead when he claps eyes on Sue Ellen.

“ ** _She’s_** gonna be one of your salesladies?” he exclaims in awed wonder. “Hoo-whee! This gal’s mighty pretty. God Bless.”

“Art…!” Margie glowers, until she sees Sue Ellen’s photograph. “Oh my gosh! Oh, yeah, she is blue ribbon beauty, that’s fer sure.”

Sensing an edge, I lean forward. “Well, as chance will have it, those girls are finishing up their sales training this week. On Friday, they get their sales licenses, and then we’re having them give the Five Star sales presentation at the Boise Auto Expo. By Monday, the girls will be selling cars off our lot.”

Mr. Macdonald sips his Coke, thinking. “Huh. I know we gots female salesladies in this day ‘n age, but I didn’t know they could be so young. That’s interestin’.”

“They’re attractive, but professional,” Margie comments, reviewing more pictures. She smiles down at Abbie’s head shot. “Oh, this girl is just the cutest, don’cha know.”

While eating, Mr. Macdonald grills me more about the Five Star Girl program. Like Jennifer Upton, he’s concerned that its image is purer than fresh snow. Unlike Jennifer, he seems impressed with the idea.

“This idea, it could work,” he muses. “It could work. But I’d hafta see it.”

Inside, I let out a breath of relief. “Maybe we can arrange to send you digital versions of their new commercials, after Monday?”

“Monday? Oh no,” frowns Mr. Macdonald. He sets down my pictures and reaches for more ribs. “Margie ‘n me, we’re leaving for Las Vegas on Sunday. I gotta make this decision soon.”

“I know,” smiles Margie coyly. “Ron, what time is your girls’ presentation at the Boise Expo?”

“Six PM. Main stage.”

“Well Art, you ‘n me could take the helicopter to Boise on Friday afternoon,” Margie coaxes. “We’d a suite in the hotel. And that way, you could see the girls at the Auto Expo.”

Mr. Macdonald gives his wife a knowing look. “You just want an excuse to hit the Boise ski slopes this weekend,” he mock-accuses her.

Margie blushes. “Guilty as charged,” she giggles.

“Fine,” sighs Mr. Macdonald, then he actually flashes a grim smile my way. “We’ll see your new salesforce, Friday evenin’. Now eat up, Sonny, you look thinner than a toothpick scarecrow! Praise the Lord.”

Relieved, I help myself to some ribs.

**** **** **** ****


	6. Setbacks and God’s Loophole

Dinner with the Macdonalds is pleasant, if a little strained. Mr. Macdonald wants to talk about religion and politics, two subjects you never discuss with a potential finance man. I mostly nod. The food is delicious.

As Margie starts clearing the dishes, I begin making excuses for a quick getaway. “I have to be driving back,” I inform my hosts. “The girls’ training program continues tomorrow.”

Marge looks worried. “Oh,” she frets. “Oh gee, Ron, you’d better hurry. The weather service just mentioned a big ‘o snowstorm rolling in from up north.”

My smile drops right off my face. “Snowstorm?”

**** **** **** ****

In ten minutes’ time, I’m back in my v8 Sedan, threading my way through local roads, and hurrying to the Interstate 84 on-ramp. Then, ten minutes after that, I’m barreling down the Interstate fast lane at ninety miles an hour.

I’m really worried now. Directly ahead of me, in the night sky, I can see ugly, black clouds dominating the horizon. Those clouds are about to burst open, I can tell. The guys who run the White Pine Rapids Ski Lodge call those clouds “moneymakers,” because they blanket the land with that thick, sticky snow, perfect for the ski industry.

But lousy for a frantic dealership owner who’s trying to drive home!

I furiously curse my fate. Why’d it have to snow **_today?_**

**** **** **** ****

An hour later, I know I’m in real trouble. Snow is falling heavily all around me, and you can’t see more than five feet ahead. Everyone on the Interstate has to slow down to twenty MPH. The highway itself is a white carpet, and you can’t see the individual lanes anymore. Dang it!

Worse than that, I’m now realizing that I didn’t (A) bring an overnight bag, (B) fill the car with gas, or (C) remember to grab my cell phone charger before I left White Pine Rapids. So if I get stuck, I’m really, really stuck.

Ahead, I see police sirens flashing, blocking the highway. The State Cops are closing down the Interstate!

**** **** **** ****

State Polices force everyone off the Interstate, and I find myself in a tiny trucker town called Antler Springs. The only gas station here is closed, darn it. I drive around a little bit, eventually locating the Proud Arrows Motel. It looks really run-down, but there’s a flickering VACENCY neon sign in the office window. I pull into the parking lot, and hope for the best.

**** **** **** ****

I check into the Proud Arrows Motel, grabbing the last room available. My room smells something fierce, and I don’t think the maid did a good job of cleaning whenever she was here last. The heater barely works.

Its 9:30 PM, almost too late to call home. But I have to risk it, if only because I have to make sure Buster is okay. My cell phone is at 2% battery, dang it.

I ring up Bev. “ _Hey, Gumdrop,_ ” she says cheerfully. “ _How’d the finance meeting go?_ ”

“Good, good,” I say wearily, rubbing my temple. The stress of the last few days is catching up with me, quick. I’m tired, and not thinking clearly. “Listen, bad news, Babycakes. I got caught in a snowstorm. Can you take care of Buster in until I get back?”

“ _Oh no!_ ” exclaims Bev, reacting to my bad news. “ _Oh, my poor Honeybunny! Of course, I’ll get Buster. He can bunk with me._ ”

“Thanks,” I sigh. “Listen, Bev… I wanted to ask you something…”

My cell phone beeps, indicating the battery is seconds away from dying.

Bev sounds amused. “ _What, Cutiepie?_ ”

“Did you…” I pause. The cell phone beeps again. Suddenly, in an anxiety-filled panic, I blurt out, “Did you get hypnotized by Hank Greene and then have filthy butt-sex with him???”

But the phone is dead. I asked too late.

**** **** **** ****

When I wake up in the morning, there’s easily twelve inches of snow outside, and its still coming down. Shivering in my thin business suit, I buy as much junk food as I can from the outside vending machine, then retreat back to my room. The TV here only gets one channel. Currently, its playing a soap opera.

I use the room telephone to try and call Five Star. But the local phone lines are dead. The storm brought them down. Great.

With nothing else to do, I huddle under the bed’s motheaten comforter, and watch the soap opera. The plot is completely silly, about rich and beautiful people named Kimberly and Denton and Latoya and Westley and Brittany and Connor. Who gets into such nonsense?

As I glare at the TV, I ruminate. Today is Thursday, the second-to-last day of the Five Star Girls’ training course. Tomorrow, Mr. Macdonald will arrive to see their final presentation, and then **_if_** all goes flawlessly, he’ll decide to invest in Five Star’s future.

I should be back at the office, getting everything shipshape, and overseeing the last of the girls’ training. Ughhh…!

Well, Jimmy can hold things together in my absence. He’s done it before. And although he doesn’t think he can do the training, I believe he can. Joyce has all the training materials. All Jimmy has to do is follow the outline.

What really has me worried, however, is Hank. **_Hank!_** He’s already hypnotized all the girls. He’s seduced Sue Ellen and at least one other young lady. By gosh, who know what other depravity has gone on?

My mind wanders into horrid territory. Who will Hank select next for filthy butt-sex? My word, he could enslave Bev if he wanted to!

My imagination runs rampant: _Hank knocks on the door of Bev’s apartment. “Well, hello there, little lady,” he grins when she greets him. “Can… I help you?” Bev asks, perplexed. “Look into my eyes!” demands Hank, and within seconds, Bev is his mindless sex slave. “Take me to your bed!” commands Hank. “Then take off all your clothes, and then let me put my Johnson into your butt!” “Yes, master,” Bev hollowly replies. She leads him into her bedroom, and begins to unzip her jeans…_

Oh my word.

I sink deeper into misery, still watching TV. The people in the soap opera think they have problems? Ha! Kimberly may have told Denton that Taylor slept with Jackie on the eve of her wedding to Hampton, even though Connor found out that she’s carrying Darrian’s second baby… but none of them have a perverted hypnotist to worry about!

**** **** **** ****

I’m snowbound in the Proud Arrows Motel for all day on Thursday. Dang it.

But Friday morning, the skies are clear, and the IDT (Idaho Transportation Department) is plowing the Interstate. Ignoring the stale smell of my clothes, I hop back in my car. I gas up, and then I’m back on the highway.

Its 7:00 AM. Depending on the conditions of the road, I should be back in White Pine Rapids by 11 AM, lunchtime at the latest, don’cha think? Once I get back to the office, I’ll feel fully in control again.

Today’s gonna to be a good day. I’m sure of it!

**** **** **** ****

About an hour later, my good mood is fully restored. The roads are mostly clear, the skies above are pure blue, and I’m making good time. I even found a good Christian rock station on the radio.

But then, I feel a **_THUNK_** somewhere in my car. Immediately, the “Check Engine” light comes on, and my speed drops by over half. The gas pedal doesn’t seem to work anymore.

Furious at my horrible luck, I pull over. I pop the hood, and peer at the engine. I know tons about the Chrysler and Buick lines, but truth be told, I’m a lousy mechanic. What could be the matter?

Why oh why didn’t I listen to Joyce and keep that maintenance appointment???

**** **** **** ****

This latest misadventure costs me most of the day. A good Samaritan gives me a ride to the next town, where I make fast friends with the local mechanic. He and I drive back out on the Interstate to tow my car back to his shop.

“Ah, its yer timing belt,” he announces, once we have my Sedan up on the rack. “I ain’t got a replacement fer this. Can you leave yer car overnight?”

“But I’ve got to get to Boise by tonight!” I cry.

“Uh-huh. Well, there’s a pay phone around the corner,” the mechanic advises. “Call for a taxi, and I’ll tell you where the nearest Chrysler supplier is.”

So much for making good time.

**** **** **** ****

While waiting for the taxi, I call Five Star. Jimmy sounds remarkably unphased by my extended absence.

“ _Actually, the girls rallied and ran the training program themselves,_ ” he reports. “ _I just gave them the training materials. They’re mighty confident. You should see ‘em!_ ”

“Huh,” I say, taken aback. “So they’ll be okay for their Auto Expo presentation?”

“ _Oh yeah, no doubt,_ ” Jimmy assures me. “ _Honestly, boss, you just have to worry about getting to the Expo by 6 PM._ ”

I glance at my watch. Its 12:52 PM.

“Jimmy, Mr. Macdonald plans to attend,” I say worriedly. Quickly, I sum up my meeting with the millionaire. “If the girls impress him, it could mean five million dollars and a second dealership for us.”

“ _The girls will impress,_ ” Jimmy promises me. “ _You should see ‘em. They’ve been practicing, and they’re really sure of themselves._ ”

“Good.” I’m almost out of time for this call. “ _Listen, Jimbo, I have something I need you to do for me._ ”

“ _Name it, boss._ ”

“I need you to fire Hank Greene. Today. We’ve got to get him out of Five Star.”

Jimmy is audibly shocked. “ _Hank? But boss… Hank’s a top seller._ ”

 _Yeah, well he’s hypnotizing the customers,_ I think darkly. “Just make sure you get it done, Jimmy,” I say wearily. “I’ll explain when I get back.”

Then I’m forced to hustle Jimmy off the phone. I want to talk more, but I have only one quarter left. I phone Bev.

“ _There you are, Sugarsnaps!_ ” she exclaims. “ _You okay?_ ”

I tell her of my misadventures.

“ _Goodness,_ ” she clucks. “ _Listen, I’ve got a customer waiting. But I’m leaving Buster with my sister. I’ll meet you at the Auto Expo, okay? I wanted to come down and cheer on the girls._ ”

“Oh,” I say, surprised. “Okay, great.”

**** **** **** ****

Its almost 2 PM by the time I get my car’s replacement belt. Soon after my car is fixed and I’m back on the road again. Now I speed as much as I dare. The highway flies by…

**** **** **** ****

By a miracle, I reach White Pine Rapids at a little after 4:30 PM, and the State Police never spotted me. Boise is a little over an hour away… but I have to duck home. I need a quick shower, a shave, and a change of clothes. I stink!

I’m back on the road by 5:10 PM, praying fervently for clear weather, light traffic, and a little more luck.

**** **** **** ****

The Boise Auto Expo is being held at the Expo Building. Even for this event, there is a stadium’s worth of parking. I pull in, park, then race at top speed into the building. Its 6:10 PM. I may have missed the girls’ presentation!

I flash my dealers’ credentials to the ticket people and then I’m on the Expo floor. This place is filled with car businessmen. There’s fellow dealers, auto execs, motor enthusiasts, journalists, and a whole lotta additional people in business suits, leather boots, and cowboy hats. Not a lot of women present. The logos of every car manufacturer, dealer, and reseller are hanging from giant banners on the walls. Country music is playing from the speakers.

I realize that my luck has held out. Opposite the hall, there’s a raised stage, and right now, its dark. But I can see stagehands positioning our Five Star promotional materials. The girls haven’t gone on yet!

My heart soaring, I nudge my way through the crowd, heading toward the backroom where I know my team is getting ready. As I go, I pause and smile at folks, as a lot of them know me.

As I work my way across the floor, I spot the sales team from Champion Honda and Toyota. Drat! Champion’s here this year? No doubt hoping to snag the Idaho Dealers’ Excellence Award from us, doggone it. Oh well.

I’m nearly at the doors to the backrooms when I bump into a familiar face. “Mr. Macdonald!” I exclaim.

“Sonny!” the older man grins, pleased to see me. He mashes my hand in another steel-press handshake. “Lookin’ forward t’ seein’ yer little show.”

“Er, so am I,” I say, perhaps unwisely. “So, ah, where’s your lovely wife?”

“Marge hit the ski slopes,” Mr. Macdonald grumbles. “I love that woman, but she don’t miss an opportunity to ski. Even at night.”

I nod. “Listen, Mr. Macdonald, I’ve got to check in with my team before the presentation.”

“Oh, sure,” the millionaire shrugs. “Hey, I’ll come with yer. Personally wish the girls some good luck.”

I’m caught. I can’t really refuse, can I? Can I?

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… okay,” is all that comes out of my mouth.

**** **** **** ****

Mr. Macdonald and I move into the back corridor. Here, there is nothing but smaller rooms where the various presenters can gather and prepare before going on-stage. The rooms are plain and bare, but most are filled with salesmen, rehearsing their materials. There’s a big lineup tonight.

“My goodness!” exclaims Mr. Macdonald, impressed. “Maybee dealerships are the right business to get into, after all. Where’s yer room, Sonny?”

“11-A,” I reply, my eyes searching the line of doors.

Aaaaaaaand… yes! There it is! 11-A! There’s a “Hayshaw Five Star Family Motors” sign taped to the outside.

Leading Mr. Macdonald, I push the door open.

Before me, are all the Five Star girls, dressed in business pantsuits. The girls are standing perfectly still, their eyes shut, their faces blank, their arms limp at their sides.

Standing before them is Hank Greene, a snide grin on his face. “And now,” he says firmly, “you all drift deeper and deeper, allowing yourself to relax even more…”

“Eh?” Mr. Macdonald grunts. “What’s this?”

I lose it. In a rush of sheer panic, I leap forward, grabbing Hank by the lapels of his suitcoat. “ ** _Don’t you dare!_** ” I blurt out. “ ** _Don’t you even think about filthy butt-sex with these girls!!!_** ”

**** **** **** ****

Everything seems to happen at once. The girls spring to life, immediately reaching for me. They squawk, like a flock of hens. Hank backs off, looking angry.

And then, I’m aware of Bev, sweet Bev, grabbing my arm. She looks at me with a mixture of shock and disbelief.

“You were fired!” I bellow at Hank.

“What?” he bellows back.

“ ** _Ron!!!_** ” cries Bev. “Ron, what is going on???”

“ ** _EVERYONE CALM DOWN!!!_** ” thunders a woman’s voice from the center of the room.

All commotion silences as we all turn to stare at the shouting woman.

Its Sue Ellen Hickory. She stands like a bristling cat, her eyes blazing, her back tense, her hands clenched like claws. She glares at me something fierce.

Then, before anyone can say anything, Sue Ellen strides forward, gently but firmly taking my arm.

“Mr. Hayshaw,” she says through gritted teeth, “let’s talk, okay?”

**** **** **** ****

White Pine Rapid’s most beautiful young woman propels me across the corridor and into an empty preparation room. She shuts the door firmly, then turns to glare at me. We’re alone.

“Dude!” the beauty queen seethes, “what the flip was that?”

“Hey,” I caution, “watch your language!”

“How dare you?” Sue Ellen flings back. “Have you been spying on me ‘n Hank?”

I’m caught off-guard by her demeanor, but I decide to end the cycle of abuse right here, right now. “Look, I know this is hard to accept,” I tell Sue Ellen, “but Hank is not a good guy. He’s hypnotizing you, and then, he’s making… you… uh…”

“Have anal sex?” Sue Ellen supplies.

The door opens, and Hank enters. He looks furious. He closes the door behind him.

“Get out of here,” I warn the crewcut youth. “Or for the love of Mike, I’ll call the police on you.”

Hank balls up his fists and opens his mouth to say something angry. But Sue Ellen quickly puts a hand on his chest.

“Ron’s seen us,” she tells Hank.

I hesitate, confused. “Sue Ellen, I’m telling you-“

“Ron is hypnotizing me, yes,” Sue Ellen snaps. “What, you thought I didn’t know?” She folds her arms over her chest. “It was my idea.”

I didn’t expect this. “Er…” is all I can say.

“This is, like, so humiliating,” Sue Ellen mutters to no-one in particular. To me, she barks, “Yes, Hank puts me in hypnosis. And then we do it, anal-style. And its awesome. Not that, like, this was any of your honking business, Mr. Hayshaw. Jerk.”

Stunned, I stare at Sue Ellen. Then I snap my fingers before her face a few times. That breaks a hypnotic spell, doesn’t it?

Sue Ellen stamps her feet in anger. “Dude! Stop being a dork, okay? Like, what my boyfriend and I do in private is none of your darn beeswax!”

“Boyfriend?” I repeat.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Sue Ellen says in a surly voice, “Hank and I are an item. I invited him to the Expo tonight as my plus one.”

“And afterwards, we’re having dinner with my parents,” Hank glowers.

I look between the two young people. They’re now standing shoulder-to-shoulder, facing me. They’re acting like a real couple.

“But…” I stammer to Sue Ellen, “Hank’s doing that hypno stuff to other women. At the Potato Patch Fair, I saw him… you know… with another women, back in the woods.”

Sue Ellen and Hank look aghast. “Oh, dude, that was me you saw at the Potato Patch,” Sue Ellen mumbles, suddenly unable to look in my direction. “We were at the fair, did all the rides, we got a little randy, and… well, the rest isn’t your business.”

My mind is blown. “You **_liked_** what he did to you?” I splutter, almost helplessly.

“Yes!” the beauty queen almost shouts, making me jump. “My fantasy is that a stranger hypnotizes me **_and makes love in my butthole! It turns me on! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!?_** ”

There’s a frantic knock at the door. “Mr. Hayshaw?” Chrissie Mae cries. “Sue Ellen? We’re on! Our presentation starts in, like, thirty seconds!”

Everyone’s hearts thud like boulders hitting a mountain. Sue Ellen whirls about, wrenches open the door, and sprints as fast as she can in her business shoes. Hank and I race along after her.

**** **** **** ****

By a miracle, all of the Five Star Girls are in position on stage when the evening’s MC announces, “ ** _Laaaaaaadies and Gentlemen, the Boise Auto Expo is proud to present… Hawshaw Five Star Family Motors!_** ”

The lights come up, and the girls all give a professional wave.

“ _Howdy, Idaho!_ ” Sue Ellen cheerfully trumpets into her microphone. “ _How y’all doing?_ ”

The Expo audience returns polite and impressed applause.

“ _We’re all so excited to be here,_ ” Beth Summers picks up. “ _Can we talk to you about quality, value, and family traditions?_ ”

“ _Quality is the Five Star way,_ ” pipes up Chrissie Mae.

“ _Value is the Five Star commitment,_ ” adds Abigail.

“ _And Family Traditions are the bedrock of Five Star’s business,_ ” Beth crows.

“ _That’s us, and we say it with pride,_ ” glows Sue Ellen, looking even more radiant than usual. “ _We’re Hayshaw Five Star Family Motors, an all-American business. Quality. Value. Family Traditions. Located in White Pine Rapids, Idaho!_ ”

Now the applause is louder and more enthusiastic.

I’m in the wings of the stage, watching the presentation come to life. I feel stunned. The girls are reflecting all my training material perfectly.

“They look amazing,” I murmur in surprise.

“Of course they do,” Hank grumbles, next to me. “They’ve been using hypnosis for confidence. A few sessions of light hypnotism can cure stage fright.”

“It can?” I ask weakly.

“Judge for yourself,” replies Hank, gesturing toward the stage. “Hypnosis is usually thought of as harmless fun. But you can use it for public speaking, too. How do you think I’m so confident when I’m on the sales floor? I use self-hypnosis.”

My younger associate and I exchange an awkward look. Hank’s eyes are still simmering with anger. He’s mad about how I humiliated him.

The girls’ presentation is top-notch. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume they were all ten-year sales veterans. Amazing.

**** **** **** ****

I linger a bit at the Expo once the girls get off the stage. Of course, I made sure to touch base with Mr. Macdonald, who gives me a funny look when I find him again on the Expo floor.

“Yer girls did a real nice job,” he tells me, sincere. “Real nice. But, what, ah, what happened when you ‘n me walked into that prep room before the show? I’m a little hard o’ hearing, you know. I didn’t hear whatcha said to that young feller.”

“Oh…” I mumble, feeling the exhaustion and stress of the week catch up with me. “Well, that was…”

Luckily, Bev has been hanging by. Now, she swoops in to save me. “That was an old sales thing,” she tells Mr. Macdonald. “A bit of a group concentration thing. You know, to clear minds and get everyone focused. Sometimes the Five Star crew gets a little intense about it.”

“Huh,” Mr. Macdonald comments. But he doesn’t look convinced. “Well, them girls did a fine job, a fine job.” He grins. “Maybee they can sell me my next towncar, eh?”

**** **** **** ****

An hour later, Bev and I are driving back to White Pine Rapids. I’m relieved to leaving the Expo behind. I’m so tired. I make my way toward the highway, but I drive slowly.

Bev turns in the passenger seat to face me. Even though its dark and I have to keep my eyes on the road, I can tell she’s giving me that amused little smile of hers.

“What?” I say wearily.

Bev simply says, “Filthy butt-sex, Ron?”

I cringe.

“What came over you?” Bev wants to know.

I give a mighty sigh. My dad liked to say, _Whenever cornered, always tell the truth._

So I tell Bev everything that’s happened this week. Everything. Well, I skip all the graphic sex details, but I’m sure Bev gets the idea.

Truth be told, it feels good to unburden all of these secrets.

Then, after I finish, my girlfriend merely says, “…huh.”

I throw a quizzical glance at Bev.

“This whole thing between Sue Ellen and Hank is perverted and disgusting. You agree, right?” I demand.

Bev gives me a knowing look. “Jellybean… you ever heard of God’s Loophole?”

I frown. “No.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bev says gently. “It’s kinda a girl thing.” She pauses, composing her next words with care. “So, when you’re a girl growing up in White Pine Rapids, there’s a lot of pressure – a **_LOT_** of pressure – to keep your virginity. So you’ll be pure on your wedding night, and God won’t be disappointed in you.”

“Okay,” I allow.

“But then there’s also a lot of counterpressure to have sex with your boyfriend,” Bev continues, not without a note a bitterness in her voice. “A lot of young women don’t know how to cope.”

I see where this is going. “So these girls are having filthy butt-sex, all to-“

“Its not filthy, Bubby-boo, and stop calling it _butt-sex_. Its anal sex. Its an expression of physical desire.” Bev tosses her hands into the air. “So, there you have it, God’s Loophole is anal sex. With anal sex, a girl can be physical with her man, and still save herself for her wedding night.”

My brain is processing this at top speed, and possibly overheating. If anyone other than Bev were saying this, I would be highly offended.

“No!” I say firmly, just as we roll up to a red light. “No, this can’t be right.”

“Why do you say that?” Bev asks plainly.

“Because… Because…” I struggle for the words. “Because butt-sex is unnatural, right? And it can’t be enjoyable!”

“Some women love anal sex,” Bev counters.

“No!” I retort.

“Oh gosh, its absolutely true,” my girlfriend assures me. “A lot of my customers like to talk about sex. The beauty parlor is the one place where women can talk about all kind of that stuff.” Then, she adds, “Plus, I read Cosmo.”

“I… see,” is all I can say.

The car behind us leans on the horn, and I realize the traffic light is green. I drive forward.

“You know, if you’re under hypnosis,” Bev muses aloud, “anal sex could feel heavenly. Think about it. Your hypnotist could tell you, ‘ _You will feel nothing but pleasure when I put my-_ ’”

“Gah!” I exclaim, cutting her off. “Bev, please!”

“Well,” says Bev, “the whole thing makes sense to me.”

“How can that be possible?” I splutter. “I know Sue Ellen isn’t the smartest. But how could she actually like the… anal sex, the hypnotism, the whole master/slave thing? **_She likes it?_** ”

“Sounds like it to me,” Bev shrugs.

I see signs for the highway; we’re nearly at the on-ramp. “That. Makes. No. Sense,” I declare firmly.

“You say that,” Bev tells me, “because no-one ever cared if you lost your virginity. You’re a guy.” She sounds disappointed in me, somehow.

I’m caught between a rush of disgusted outrage and unexpected surprise. Suddenly… the events of the last week are making a lot more sense. _Hypnotism is not a form of mind control. Hypnotism is harmless fun. Some women love anal sex._

My head is still spinning, though.

“Ron,” Bev says plainly.

The very sound of her pronouncing my name is jarring. Bev never calls me “Ron.” She calls me _Honeybear_ or _Sweetbean_ or _Sugerpop_ or _Snugglebunny_. But never “Ron.”

“Yeah?” I say.

“People like different things,” Bev tells me quietly. “Its okay.”

The on-ramp is now directly ahead. I hit the gas, and we spring forward.

**** **** **** ****

As I drive home, Bev and I talk some more. Sometimes we argue. Sometimes we agree. More than once, I find myself listening to Bev, absorbing a perspective I’ve never considered before.

But by the time we’re driving into White Pine Rapids, Bev has convinced me. I can’t believe it. I misjudged the whole Sue Ellen situation. Boy, do I owe her… and Hank Greene… one whopper of an apology.

“The whole affair just seems so darn fantastic,” I mumble, as I pull up before Bev’s apartment.

“Yeah, I can see that,” she agrees. “But I think its sexy that you’re open to seeing things in a new light.”

“So tell me something,” I say, turning off the engine. “Did you get hypnotized by Hank Greene?”

Bev looks at me for a second before busting out into laughter. “Oh, yeah,” she chortles. “I did. I’d plumb forgotten about that.”

“Okay, what’s the story?” I want to know.

Bev shrugs. “I’m friends with the Summers’. In fact, Lucy Summers, Beth’s older sister, is an old girlfriend of mine. So I got invited over to the dinner party. Hank dropped by because Sue Ellen forgot her cell phone, Sue Ellen mentioned that he was a hypnotist, and, well, we all decided we wanted to try it.”

“And how was it?”

Bev smiles. “It was honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

When I make a face, Bev laughs again. “Yeah, Hank hypnotized us all to say that whenever someone asked about our experience. But it was fun, Sugarbean. You should try it someday.”

**** **** **** ****


	7. Epilogue

**_Four months later…_ **

“ _Now listen closely, Ronny Boy,_ ” Sarah Henderson instructs me over the phone. “ _The Rocky Mountain Investment Group doesn’t talk to just anyone. I had to call in a few favors for them to see you._ ”

“Oh geez,” I fret, pacing a little behind my desk.

“ _Relax, Ron, relax!_ ” laughs Sarah. “ _I’ll tell you what’s about to happen. You’ll meet with Rocky Mountain, you’ll give them the same amazing presentation you showed me, and then they’ll love you._ ”

I’m in my office at the dealership, which is currently stuffed with architectural plans and promotional materials for Five Star’s new dealership. I’m so excited about the new location! It’ll be located in Crawspeck, which is thirty miles down the highway. In many ways, the new place will be even grander than our original shop. Jimmy’s already moved to Crawspeck, where he’ll be the General Manager. He’ll do great.

Of course… finding the funding for the new location hasn’t been easy. Mr. Macdonald did invest with us, in the end. Once he saw the Five Star Girls at the Auto Expo, he was convinced in our business model.

But the millionaire was also spooked by what he witnessed in our preparation room. I don’t know if he ever learned that Hank was using hypnotism with the girls. But my loud accosting of Hank couldn’t have been missed. Mr. Macdonald was no doubt suspicious. In the end, he committed only $500,000 to Five Star… much less than the $3 million that the new dealership cost.

So Sarah Henderson and I have been working the phones ever since, raising the rest of the money. Once we hit $2 million, I bought the land and hired the construction company. And we still need another $350,000 to buy the first year’s inventory. Hopefully, after meeting with the Rocky Mountain Group, I’ll have it.

As if sensing my anxiety, Sarah says warmly, “ _Ronny Boy, you’re nearly home free. Just go into that meeting, do your thing, and you’ll walk out with your next dealership. Its yours for the taking, you betcha. Okay?_ ”

She’s right. I smooth my moustache.

**** **** **** ****

As I leave my office, Joyce looks up from her desk. “Oh, Mr. Hayshaw,” she warbles. “Jennifer Upton just called back. Your initiation dinner with the WPRC is scheduled for Friday night. That good for you?”

“Sounds great,” I acknowledge.

“About time they invited you to join the WPRC,” mutters my secretary, already reaching for the phone.

I smile as I stride out of our office. It took a little while, but eventually I was able to convince Jennifer Upton that Five Star is on the level. It also helped that I’m getting married this year. The WPRC is comprised of only fine, upstanding citizens, you know.

As I cross the showroom floor, I nod at Chrissie Mae Macintosh, who is intently talking with a young husband and his wife. Looks like the Chrissie Mae is closing another sale. Good for her! She’ll make Top Associate this Month, you watch. That is, if Abigail or Beth Summers don’t beat her to it first.

**** **** **** ****

I hop in my Sedan, and drive down Stetson Ave, heading towards town. The Rocky Mountain Investment Group is waiting for me at the Lakefront Building.

As I pull up to the traffic light at Brewster, I eye Champion Honda and Toyota, our rival dealership across the street. They’ve put up some of those new electric billboards. Those billboards are expensive; I guess Champion’s doing brisk business.

I study Champion with the detail-oriented eye of a competitor. There, in their showroom, I can clearly see Sue Ellen Hickory, clad in a beige pantsuit, proudly showing off the red 2007 4X4 Tacoma. She’s got a confidence that can be seen even from here.

Of course, after all that happened at the Auto Expo, I offered a wingdingdilly of an apology to Sue Ellen and Hank Greene. They appreciated the gesture, but… the damage was done. Both work at Champion now. It stings my pride a little, if I’m being honest. Sue Ellen and Hank are great salespeople. With both of them working at Champion, Five Star may well lose the Idaho Dealers’ Excellence Award this year. Dangit.

Oh well.

My cell phone rings, and I put it on the car speaker. Its Bev!

“ _Hey there, Gumdrop,_ ” she giggles. “ _Listen, Lydia just called. The caterers are available, after all. So that’s good news. Any word on booking the Luxor Honeymoon suite?_ ”

“Babycakes, Joyce called the hotel today,” I assure her. “The suite’s ours.” I grin like a fool. “Jeepers, I still can’t believe we’ll be honeymooning in Las Vegas!”

“ _Only took you six months to ask for my hand,_ ” Bev teases. “ _So how soon before I can have a baby?_ ”

“One thing at a time, Babycakes,” I reply.

The traffic light turns green. I smooth my moustache, and drive on.

**** **** **** ****


End file.
